


A Subtle Touch of Grace

by bluetoast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cancer, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2011, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 21:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 72,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1444246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many sayings for the wants of man: you can't always get what you want, you don't know what you want until it's gone, and most importantly, you don't know what you want until you have it. After averting the Apocalypse, a miracle in the form of an Angel-Human Hybrid and the reorganization of Heaven brings Dean and Castiel both closer together and farther apart than ever before. Dean lives with a broken heart and finds Faith in unexpected places, Sam finds the normal life he's always wanted while on a hunt of all places, and Castiel discovers that God was closer than everyone thought.</p><p>
  <b>Written for the 2011 Dean/Castiel Big Bang</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Dean had ever kissed Castiel, it was shortly after the brothers separated following their defeat of the Horseman known as War. In that abandoned house in Maine, before they had gone to trap Raphael. That had been the night everything had started. Castiel wasn't entirely sure what Dean's original plan had been that night – but they never ended up leaving the house until they went to face the archangel. There had been a lot of firsts that night: a first kiss, a first taste of alcohol and somehow, it ended up with the two of them coming together on a pile of blankets. Castiel was positive that hadn't been the man's intentions at the start of the night, but by its end, he knew Dean hadn't been lying when he said he couldn't think of a better way to have spent it. 

It would be two more months before the two of them were able to share a bed again, the night before they went to face Lucifer in Carthage. The night before Ellen and Jo had died. 

That night stuck out to Castiel more than the first night, for that had been the night that Dean had told him he loved him. 

Castiel had known, of course, just how many rules he was breaking when he first started rebelling against Heaven. Entering into a physical relationship with a human was one of the biggest taboos there were for angels. Not entirely forbidden, but so frowned upon that it was better to leave well enough alone, mainly owing to the fact that the body you inhabited on Earth wasn't your own. It wasn't forbidden – disobedience and defiance were much greater crimes. Castiel had been guilty of all three and even looking back, he would not do anything differently in regards to his relationship with Dean.

He'd refused to betray the brothers to all four archangels, including Gabriel. Then came their encounter with Famine and things grew difficult. It'd been after that battle that Castiel knew he couldn't afford to lose what grace he had left searching for God, so he had returned Dean's amulet to him and then one of the last things either he or the Winchesters expected had occurred and Adam Milligan was resurrected almost on the heels of Famine's defeat. 

From there - things had promptly fallen apart. Literally. But a larger plan was already in motion, and it would culminate and come to fruition following the death of two angels: Zachariah at the hands of Dean Winchester, and Gabriel at the hands of Lucifer.

*

There really wasn't any way to prepare for this, not completely. Castiel had tried several methods he'd heard about and none of them seemed to be working at least not to the degree they were supposed to. He couldn't believe it was taking as long as it was but since his grasp on time wasn't too accurate at the moment, he could have just been lying here for two hours instead of the two hundred it felt like. He let out a long breath and stared upwards, seeing only a hint of azure sky and wispy clouds – they seemed so far away, so far removed from where he was now. He had to keep reminding himself not to tense up, to breathe through the pain as his body was wrenched through another contraction. It'd be a lot easier if someone was with him, a companion, someone to hold his hand, to smooth his hair from his face, just... someone. As it was, he was in his own little corner of Heaven, protected from prying eyes and angels who were too young to know any better. Another contraction seized his body and he clutched at the eiderdown he was nestled in. It had been four months. Four whole months since he had seen Dean. Four months should seem like nothing to an angel, but to Castiel, it seemed endless.

_Dean._

Just the thought of him made Castiel's muscles relax and he could breathe easier as another pain came upon him, the hardest one yet. He knew that the hunter was all right. Perfectly safe and probably sitting in a diner somewhere eating pie and giving Sam a hard time. He chuckled softly at the thought. He could almost smell the coffee and hear the chatter of conversation that would surround them. The brothers would be looking for their next case, Sam searching strange reports while Dean gave his usual smart remarks to things his brother found. No. He did not know if Dean was in that mood or in a more somber and brooding one, like the mood he had been in right before the three of them walked into that abandoned factory in California. 

Castiel's injury from that day had been so grave, so severe, he had not had the strength to return and tell Dean he was alive. Carving the banishing sigil into his chest had been nothing short of suicide. Dean had known of course. He had to have known, someone had to have told him. Or perhaps, Dean just known. The same way Castiel had known once he was mostly recovered from the incident that he had gambled with far more than his life. 

_I don't have the same faith in you that Sam does._

He had been angry when he spoke those words. Angry with everything. With Heaven, with the Winchesters, with himself. 

Dean had been doing what he had always done when someone had threatened his family. He rushed to their defense. Castiel could only grasp at that idea – for all they called one another brother and sister, few angels had that sort of relationship. If he knew a way to help all of his family, Dean would have done it. Brothers, apparently, had a stronger hold than lovers did. 

Castiel winced as he felt his wings rip out of his back, a sure sign he was getting deeper into labor. They always hurt whenever they came out from being tucked away, but when they came out as part of a muscle reflex it seemed twice as painful. 

He had never shown Dean his wings, only their shadows. 

The last day the two of them had spent together all they had done was argue. Dean wasn't used to being held back when it came to defending his family. John Winchester was responsible for that, in a way. His entire life, Dean had ever been told to watch out for his brother, and Dean, being Dean, had made that 'brothers' in its plural form almost as soon as he learned the truth about Adam. How he wanted to undo that terrible day sometimes... or at least take back some of the harsh words he had said. When they did see one another again, they would somehow have to put things back together, or at least, there had to be forgiveness. He squeezed his eyes shut as another contraction ripped through his body, the hardest one yet, and he finally whimpered, his first sound since he started this labor.

“Shh. Breathe, little brother. Nice and even breaths.” A steady but gentle hand rested against him, brushing his forehead gently with a thumb. The wished for companion had suddenly appeared, the way thunder sometimes accompanied snow - unexpected and seemingly out of place. 

Castiel opened his eyes and blinked at the angel in acknowledgement. It was Michael, still wearing the visage of Adam Milligan, although Adam himself was currently back in his own corner of Heaven, a good deal wiser and a good deal more traumatized than he had been last time he was there. Six months ago, the presence of the archangel would have sent Castiel into the throes of panic. In its place, he now found some sort peace. Michael, who, rather than fighting Lucifer, had freed Death from the chains placed upon him by the fallen angel. Death had done exactly what any reaper would do if it were bound and then unleashed. Death had reaped Lucifer and the Apocalypse would have to be rewritten.

The last rumor Castiel had heard was that if things were not so chaotic in many parts of Heaven, Michael would be off searching for their Father. Many angels still believed he would return to their home and to his children, but no one, not even Michael or even Joshua, the gardener, knew exactly where he'd gone. 

“Too much was placed on you, Castiel.” Michael's voice was odd and strangely soothing, his hand now stroking more of his head, which had been placed on the archangel's knee. The angel's other hand clasped one of his, letting him squeeze it as hard as he wanted as pain washed over him again. “I am sorry.”

If he wasn't so exhausted, Castiel might have issued a strong retort, but he did what he could, replying with some of the snark that he'd somehow picked up from just being around Dean. “Why are you here?” 

Michael smiled softly. “You wanted someone although I know you'd rather have someone else.”

“It is impossible, ” was his flat reply. Even if Dean knew what was happening in Heaven today if there were some way for him to be here, he could not be here. It was far too dangerous for humans and with the pain he was feeling, Castiel was starting to think it was just as dangerous for angels. He took another deep breath and clasped Michael's hand tightly. “I think... I think now...”

As slowly as time had passed a moment ago, now it seemed to be going at an alarming speed. He wasn't sure later of what exactly transpired, other than his labor suddenly became much, much more intense. The contractions started coming one right after another and he could remember screaming, not with the thin voice of a human, but with his true one. One of the reasons Dean could not be here with him. Such cries would render the man deaf and possibly blind. 

When Heaven righted itself again in Castiel's awareness, he was tucked into blankets, the sweat and blood of his labor washed away, leaving him and the nest clean. He was exhausted.

He could remember being tired when he was falling, but never, never had Castiel thought he could be _this_ tired with his grace fully intact. He really hated being proven wrong. Despite his exhaustion, the angel could only stare in wonder at what was tucked gently against his side. There it was, gleaming faintly like a massive oblong pearl; the off-white egg fit almost perfectly into the crook of his arm, just wide enough that with his arm around it, only the tips of his fingers could reach the blanket they were both laying on. To Castiel, it was nothing less than a wonderful miracle. He had carried it for five months and would now keep it warm against him for two weeks. Curling into a fetal position, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the hard shell, draping one wing completely over it in a blanket of feathers and warmth. He reached out with his grace to the fledgling within, searching – praying – and then he felt it. Curled up inside its egg, the small child reached out with its own grace, nothing certain, nothing assured. The whole universe lay before him and it both thrilled and frightened him. Castiel soothed the newborn grace with his own, cooing softly in his mind and he felt the child settle. He smiled in response, already half-asleep himself. 

“Rest my child.” He placed a soft kiss on the shell as he slipped into sleep. “You will be out here with me soon.” 

His last thought before he drifted off completely was that he still wished Dean could be here. It had been four months and he would not see Dean in the flesh for at least another three. Soon he would let Dean know that he was still alive, but as for how he was going to tell him about their child... 

Castiel was not yet completely sure of the words to do that. 

**

Sam had stopped asking Dean how he felt before May. There was just no point in it. Lucifer had been dead since the middle of March. What should have been celebratory was bittersweet. Sam knew full well what had been between his brother and Cas. His brother might think him slow on the uptake at times, but you didn't spend nearly every single hour of every single day with a person and not know when something changed in their life. Sam also knew that lecturing Dean on having a relationship with a supernatural creature was a talk he had no right to give. But what Sam couldn't stand was what losing that relationship had done to Dean. Michael had told them Cas was alive. Injured, but alive. He was in Heaven, where he was safe and where he would stay indefinitely. The archangel had been very vague on that tangent. Sam figured that straight answers were something angels didn't know how to give. He once had a professor at Stanford like that. The asshole had taught psychology, of all things and just that one stupid general requirement class had been enough for Sam to give his full sympathy towards anyone majoring in the damn subject. (Although the look on the man's face when Sam obliterated the curve on the exam on parapsychology had been _priceless._ )

It was almost the start of July and Dean was still not back to even half of his normal self. It was nearly as bad as when dad had died. Maybe it was the knowledge that Castiel was still alive and yet being unable to see him that made it so hard for his brother. Sam looked up from his laptop to Dean, who was sitting on the other side of the table, staring blankly at a newspaper. “You want some pie?” 

“Huh?” Dean looked away from the paper he wasn't reading, sounding as if he had no idea Sam was right across the table from him until just now.

“Pie. You know, that food you love to eat? I asked if you wanted some pie.”

“Don't want pie for breakfast, Sammy.” Dean picked up his coffee mug and took a large sip.

“We're having dinner, Dean.” He shut the laptop and pushed the paper down. 

“Damn it, Sam...” Dean started to say something else but Sam cut him off. 

“I'm only asking one thing of you Dean, and that's to keep your days and nights straight. That's all.” He let go of the paper and went back to his salad. “Anything good in there?”

“Just some psychic claiming she knows where the next winner of the Triple Crown will be born.” Dean snorted. “Like anyone will remember her in three years.”

“Internet might,” Sam remarked, stabbing a chunk of tomato. “But you know some people.”

“Yeah.” Dean shifted in his seat and folded the paper back. “Might not even be three years. I mean, it's been thirty-two years since a horse won the Triple Crown.” Dean set the paper down and focused his attention on his coffee mug. “Any leads?”

“Uh...” Sam opened the laptop again. “A few. There's a possible rougaru in South Carolina, some unexplained deaths in Kansas City and some cattle mutilations in Maine.” 

Dean frowned into his mug. “What kind of deaths in KC?”

Sam was so glad his brother was talking somewhat normally that he had to stop himself from grinning before responding. “Give me a second here... six people... all found dead at home, no sign of break-in or foul play. And the reason they've ruled out disease is the fact that they all live in different parts of the city.”

“Any connection at all between the victims?”

“None that I can see. Two men, four women, youngest was sixteen and the oldest was sixty three.”

“Family, friends...”

“No... nothing like that. Hell, only one of them actually lives in Kansas City. The other five live in towns that border it. Gladstone, Lone Jack, Blue Springs, Lee's Summit and Independence.” 

“If they all live in different areas, how do they know the deaths are connected?” Dean picked up the last of his fries, even though they probably had gone cold and munched on them.

Sam scrolled through the report, searching. “Each and every one of them had a small cut in the exact same place on their hand. Wound wasn't infected or anything. But it's like someone was leaving a signature on the bodies. Police are thinking some kind of serial killer if they could just figure out how the people were dying.”

Dean drained the rest of his coffee. “Well, I'm officially interested. You done?”

“Yeah. You want to drive through the night? Missouri's at least a full day's drive from here.”

“It'd be easier. Besides, I'm not tired.” Dean dropped a twenty on the table as they stood up. 

Sam collected his laptop and followed his brother out to the Impala. 'I'm not tired' was rapidly moving to the top of the phrases he heard the most out of his brother. He knew better than to ask his brother to second guess himself. Dean might have been completely distant since Cas had vanished, but he still had the common sense to pull over and sleep when he was tired. They got settled into the car and Sam waited until they were back on the highway and heading west before he spoke again. “After this case you want to head up to Sioux Falls? We haven't been to see Bobby in several weeks.”

“Maybe...” Dean leaned back in the seat, his gaze focused on the road ahead. 

Sam balled up his jacket and set it against the door for a pillow. The look on his brother's face was obvious. “Wake me up when it's my turn to drive.”

“No problem.”

Dean waited until Sam was snoring lightly before he flicked on the radio. He did a quick search for a station, finally stopping on one that was reporting farm news. He relaxed a little as he listened to a boring voice drone on about the state fair. Dean hadn't remembered they were in Tennessee until just now and although the fair wasn't until September, the preparations were already underway. A few minutes later, the boring voice was replaced by what sounded like the world's last radio variety show, complete with corny songs and bad jokes. Dean normally wouldn't have listened to this sort of bullshit, but for now it was serving two very important purposes; one, it helped keep him alert and two, it didn't make him think about Cas.

**

Castiel slowly sat up, stretched his wings and shifted the blankets so he could move without disturbing the egg. His exhaustion was gone and now he faced the daunting task of waiting the next two weeks. If his grasp on the date on Earth was correct, the egg would hatch during the first week of July. He could hear the faint keening of a nearby angel, going through her own labor at the moment. Although she was a good distance away, the cries still reached him as she wailed in her true voice. He returned his gaze to his own nest, which would be his home from now until the fledgling was old enough to be on his own, when whatever order took him into training. That day wouldn't come for several more years and while he and the child would leave the nest together as Castiel taught him the things all parents teach their young, they still would return here when they were weary and needed rest. It was odd that rest would now be a part of Castiel's life, more than it had while he was slowly falling. However, that would only last while the boy was with him. Once he reared the child to the proper age, the need to rest would leave him and this nest would remain empty unless Castiel needed or felt the desire to return to it again.

Angels mated for life. And life, for an angel, was an eternity. 

Stretching again, he turned the egg gently and curled up next to it, placing a wing back over it. His hand curled up against it, imagining what would happen in two weeks. He knew that the fledgling inside was a boy, but other than that, the child was a blank slate to him. He knew nothing about how he would look, how he would act, all of it a mystery to him. He brushed his knuckles back and forth slowly, humming the first song that came to mind, an old hymn he'd not sung in what feels like forever. When next he felt the need to close his eyes in rest, he would seek out Dean in dreams. Five minutes would be enough... just five little minutes. He at least wanted Dean to know that he was okay. Telling him about the child... no, not yet. The time for that was not now. He smiled and kept humming softly, thinking of that park where he and Dean had sat following the failure to stop the breaking of one of the sixty-six seals. It'd be nice to go back there sometime and sit on the same bench and maybe do something Dean would call 'chick flicky' like holding hands. 

Castiel made a mental note to find out what exactly 'chick flicky' meant. 

**

Rather than heading into the city itself, the brothers had decided to start their search in the town where the first victim, a twenty-eight year old man, had lived. The town, called Lone Jack, more or less lived up to its name. Dean set out to do some early investigating, leaving Sam, who'd driven from two in the morning until they got to town at the motel to take a nap. He was actually surprised the town had a motel at all, given that the town's population was under six hundred. It seemed to be nothing more than a bunch of houses, a supermarket, three schools, the motel, three gas stations, two churches and one library. He smiled faintly at that. Practically every town he'd been to had a library of some kind, even if it was just a room in a local historical home. Dean noted the hours of operation on the building's door before he went inside. 

“Good afternoon.” A woman smiled at him from behind the desk where she was checking in books.

“Hey.” He nodded in reply, looking slowly around, noting the three computers a short distance away. “You need a card to use the computer?”

“Catalog, no, Internet, yes.” She walked over and set the books on a few of the waiting carts and turned her attention back to him. “Do you have a card?”

“Don't live here,” Dean said, preparing to head to the area where he could find local history.

“Oh, you can get an Internet card. They're good for six months. It doesn't matter if you don't live around here. I gave one to a lady from Calgary the other day.”

Dean shrugged absently and walked back over to the desk. “Sounds good.” 

“Okay...” She got out a card and an application. “Just need to ask you a few questions.” 

After giving his name as Dean Singer and his residence as Yankton, South Dakota, he took the offered black card and went to set it in his wallet before catching the library system's name on it. “Hey, how many libraries are in the system?”

“Thirty, including our headquarters. Since we're a county system, we're all over the place, except in the city proper, I think.”

“Really?” He tucked the card into his wallet. “You got something with all your branches listed? I'm going to be in the area for about a week.”

“Certainly.” She handed him a brochure. “Just remember, all our branches, except for the Genealogy Center are closed on Sundays.”

“Thanks,” Dean said again and headed over to the computers. He waited until the woman was occupied with a batch of children before slipping out the door without even bothering to log onto one of the computers. He stopped at the store, picked up something for dinner and headed back to the motel. When he got there, Sam was getting dressed after having a shower. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Sam came over and took one of the beers Dean had picked up. “You find anything?”

“I may have found something to connect our victims.” He handed the brochure to his brother who took it. “That is, if they're all a bunch of geeks like you and the cops just haven't figured that out yet.”

“A library system?” Sam sat down and compared the locations with the notes he'd made yesterday. “Okay, so cursed book maybe?”

Dean sat down and opened a beer of his own. “Cursed object, more than likely. Somehow I don't think a Twi-Hard and a lawyer are going to be reading the same thing.”

Sam took a swig from his beer and then set it down. “Wait -” he turned his attention to his laptop. “Maybe they did.” 

“Huh?”

“This genealogy branch this system has, it's pretty major and they're currently showing a display of Civil War items on loan from some family in Atlanta.” Sam started scrolling through some information. “Guns, uniforms and a couple of diaries.”

Dean nodded and unpacked the food he'd gotten at the store. “Sounds like a good lead. I'm thinkin' we should move up to Independence tomorrow, easier to take a look around from there. Hopefully, we won't have to drive all the way to Georgia for a salt-and-burn.”

“Yeah.” Sam smiled faintly. “This town is the sort of place where everyone knows everyone else.” 

He nodded in response and sat down to eat. Dean knew that deep down, his brother wasn't fooled. This case was no different than all the others they'd handled since Cas' disappearance. It was just another distraction, because he knew that if they stopped for any length of time, he'd be forced to deal with what had happened and how it had all gone down. Even now, all these months later, he wasn't sure if he was ready to face all that had happened. All he knew was that he'd have to do it and do it soon.

*

Dean knew he was dreaming when he realized he was lying in the room he used in Bobby's house and it was cleaner than he'd ever seen it. He turned over in the bed, finding it even stranger to be dreaming about sleeping, when he suddenly focused and realized he was face to face with a sleeping Cas. “Well, this is a new one.” He reached out and set his hand against the angel's face, rubbing his cheekbone with his thumb. He felt the corners of his mouth lift when he saw the small twitch on the face in front of him, the one that always showed itself before the angel, so unused to sleeping, seemed to try out every facial expression before waking. The fact that he was dreaming of a Castiel who wasn't angry with him was a welcome change.

“You're not entirely dreaming.” Castiel said as he slowly opened his eyes.

“Cas?” Dean sat up, almost ready to bolt from the bed. 

“Dean - it's all right.” He drew himself into a sit. “I should have contacted you sooner but things have been difficult.”

“I... I'm sorry.” It was the only thing Dean could think of to say – it's really the only thing he'd _wanted_ to say to Cas since the last time they saw each other. “It's... it's my fault.”

“No.” There was an edge in Castiel's voice. “I should have had the faith in you that you had in me.”

“Cas - I thought - you could have...” Dean swallowed hard. “You're alive, aren't you?”

“You doubted I was alive?” Castiel tilted his head to the side.

“No disrespect or anything, but I've never taken it as fact that angels always tell the truth.” Dean had no idea how to react to this, he didn't know if he wanted to wake up or hug Castiel for all he was worth. 

“None taken.” Castiel leaned back against the headboard, folding his arms and resting them on his knees. “I'm well and I am going to be just fine. I just can't see you for a while.”

“Some kind of post-failed-apocalypse clean up sort of crap?” Dean shifted how he was sitting, still not certain if it was wise to move closer to the angel yet.

“Something like that yes.”

“Sounds...” Dean bit his lip, “...tedious.”

Castiel smiled faintly. “It can be, at times.” 

“I miss you Cas.” Dean figured he might as well go ahead and get all chick-flicky now instead of later when there was a chance of Sam seeing it. “It - hasn't been all that easy.”

“I miss you too, Dean...” Castiel slid his hand over the covers and clasped one of Dean's, squeezing it gently. “You should not worry about me. I will be fine.”

Dean slid up next to him against the headboard and put an arm around the angel in a half hug. “It isn't going to be entirely possible to keep things up, is it?”

Castiel closed his eyes and rested his head against Dean's shoulder; his smile became more certain as Dean's arms held him a little tighter, the embrace becoming more assured. “If there is one thing I learned from my time on Earth, Dean, it is that nothing is ever set in stone.”

Dean tentatively pressed a kiss on the angel's temple. “Yeah. And you know how I feel about things like Fate and destiny.”

Castiel managed a weak chuckle at that. “I will say that you certainly are one of, if not the most stubborn men who has ever lived. You are certainly the most stubborn of my acquaintance.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” Dean closed his eyes and embraced the angel a little tighter. “I knew if I had one of these dreams, I wouldn't want to wake up.”

“Dawn is a long time off for you, I believe. Where are you?”

“Some town in Missouri that I can't remember the name of right now.”

“Missouri.” Castiel paused, thinking. “It's still the middle of the night. Unless you have chosen to start to rise at two instead of five in the morning since we last saw each other?”

“No. To tell you the truth Cas, any night I can sleep I take what I get.” He didn't want to tell the angel that his departure had fouled up his already lousy sleeping habits. However, Dean had a feeling that Cas already knew.

“I do not know when I can contact you again like this. It might not be for several months.” Castiel sighed softly, seeming content for the moment.

“I understand Cas, I think it sucks, but I understand..” Dean figured that there was probably a lot of mess to be sorted through upstairs. He didn't envy Cas the task that he had in front of him. “I'd tell you not to get too stressed, but I don't even know if you can get stressed out.”

Castiel chuckled. “It is possible for an angel to feel stress, although we don't call it that. We just refer to it as being under pressure. I do believe that many angels do not have as good of a grasp on emotions as others. While I cannot feel or understand them entirely, I believe the sensation you call stress is a bit of a constant for most angels.”

“Sounds lovely.” Dean snorted.

“I believe your ability to grasp what pressure is to angels is akin to my ability to grasp what pleasure you get from a slice of pie with ice cream,” he replied, shifting on the bed so he could rest more comfortably against Dean. Odd thing to think about, as this was a dream and comfort was going to happen no matter how they sat.

“Aw, you've been working on your sarcasm.” Dean snickered. “I don't think Sammy gets my love of pie either.”

Castiel let out a reluctant sigh. He had been here as long as he could; he had to return his spirit to where it needed to be and Dean needed his rest. “I must go soon. You need your sleep, Dean.”

“I am sleeping.” Dean hugged him a little tighter.

“True sleep, Dean. I would very much like to spend the entire night talking with you, but that is not possible.” He pulled himself slowly from Dean's embrace and kissed the man on the cheek. “I will come to see you as soon as I am able.”

“You take care of yourself, Cas.” 

“And you. Take care of yourself.” The angel pulled away from Dean, leaving the man to fall into deeper sleep as the dream ended. 

When Castiel came back to himself in Heaven, he repeated the same process he'd been doing for days now. He gently turned the egg in his hands, covered it with one of his wings again, this time adjusting himself and the egg so he could lean against the side of the nest. He reached out and plucked a book off the top of the small stack just outside of the nest. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of how this might look to an outside observer: an angel, now with a massive set of wings protruding from his back, still bearing the appearance of his human vessel, although the suit and trench-coat had been abandoned for a softer garb; the cloth whose nearest equivalent on Earth in both texture and weight was Egyptian cotton. The pants were a deep blue, and the cream colored tunic had piping on the hem and wrists in a blue matching that of the pants, along with a thicker stripe of scarlet. The color noted Castiel's position as a warrior in Michael's Legion, those in Raphael's band had stripes of violet and those in Gabriel's (though Castiel wagered it would soon be Joshua's Legion) had green. 

He let out a soft sigh, opened the book and began to read. 

**

It was exactly one week later (and two more victims), and after one of the biggest mountains of research the Winchesters had tackled in recent memory, that they connected the eight victims and made their way back to Lone Jack and into the woods for a usual salt and burn. The body in question was that of a Yankee soldier who had been injured in a skirmish in the woods of Missouri. Four of his friends had carried him as far as they could and then two of his fellow soldiers had run to town to get help and possibly a doctor. They had been captured by Quantrill's raiders and by the time they got to where their friends were, the wounded soldier was dead. The raiders had buried the dead man and then executed two of his companions. Following that, the raiders had slashed the youngest soldier's hand and drove him out into the Kansas Prairie, leaving him to a fate unknown. The fourth soldier had been the first soldier's little brother. 

The eight current victims were all descendants of the band of raiders who'd caught the four originally.

“I still can't believe we got that girl at the library to help put this all together.” Sam shook his head as they came to a massive Kentucky Coffee Tree. “How do you suppose she knew all this?”

“I asked her that. She's a descendant of a raider too. She doesn't know if she was tied to it or not, but it was one of the stories her grandpa always told. She thought it was horrible.” Dean set the bag he was carrying down. “I just hope the body is still here.”

“Yeah, me too. I'd hate to think how many unmarked graves there are around here.” Sam stuck his shovel into the ground and started to dig. 

Dean got out his own shovel and joined him. “Oh, now there's a comforting thought. I'd say that it's nothing short of a miracle that we're not having to burn bodies of Civil War soldiers on a regular basis.”

Sam nodded faintly. “Yeah... somehow, I don't think it will be too deep.”

“A few feet at least.” He looked up and saw that his brother's focus wasn't entirely into digging. “Something on your mind, Sam?” Dean paused for a moment to rub a sore spot on his lower back. 

“Tomorrow's the Fourth. You want to stay here or head up to Bobby's?” Sam said, grunting as he unearthed a small rock and added it to the dirt pile.

“Why, were you...” He stopped digging and stared at Sam. “What's her name?” Even in the darkness, Dean saw his brother's ears turn pink.

“Gina... you remember...”

“The library worker in Blue Springs?” Dean chuckled and resumed digging. “The one who told us she went to school with David Cook? Who the hell is that anyway?”

“Dude, he won American Idol like, two years ago. He's a pretty big deal around here.”

Dean snorted. “Well, you know my opinion of _that_ show.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam went back to digging too. “I mean, it'd just be a barbecue and fireworks later.”

“You don't need to ask my permission to go out, Sam. Aren't you always telling me you're a grown up?” Dean paused and knelt down to brush some dirt aside. “I think we've got him.”

Sam knelt down and started to help him clear the area. “I'm pretty sure she wouldn't mind if you came along too, Dean.” 

“Sam,” Dean said, digging alongside the body. “I don't think that's a great idea.”

“Oh come on.” Sam gave him a very slight grin. “You know my policy on holidays. No one spends them alone if they don't have to.”

Dean sighed in response. “Fine. Let's hurry up and get this over with, before our friend here finds another victim.”

*

Dean decided that coming with Sam was a good thing. The celebration was actually taking place at Gina's sister's house, who lived in a town named Peculiar, and there was enough food sitting around that Dean felt they could have invited twenty more people and there would still be leftovers. The large number of people and food turned out to be the reason that no one paid much mind to the two guys from out of town. Dean sighed nonchalantly and leaned against the fence that was alongside a pasture where he could see a few horses grazing. He took a long sip from his beer as a young woman, probably younger than twenty-five came over to the fence and leaned against it, the frown on her face speaking volumes.

“You okay?”

“No.” She folded her arms and kept her focus on the horses. “Look, you're about the only single guy here who hasn't hit on me so far, so I'm guessing that either means you're taken or you don't like girls.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Either way, I'm thankful.”

Dean coughed. “You're welcome.”

“The point is, some people wouldn't understand loyalty if it came up and smacked them in the face with a rubber chicken.”

He spat out a mouthful of beer and hacked. “What?”

“Sorry, I've just been...” She turned around and leaned against the fence in the same manner he was. “My boyfriend, hopefully soon to be fiancée -just got shipped off to Iraq two weeks ago, and it's sucked out loud. And it's sucked even more that all these guys,” she waved her hand towards the party in general “think I'm suddenly single because of it.”

“That sucks.” Dean took a sip of beer. “Didn't you tell them you're taken?”

“Yes.” She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Somehow, they think that having a boyfriend who's on the other side of the world doesn't count as a real one.”

He shook his head. “Well, some guys are assholes by default.” Dean gave her a small smile. “How long is your boyfriend's deployment?”

“Nine months. I don't even know if he's actually in Iraq or not, he just said the Middle East. Security, you know.”

“Yeah.” 

“So where's,” she frowned, thinking, “uh, your uh...”

“He had to go home.” Dean let out a long breath. “It's a long way to his home.”

“Another country or something?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I think I get what comes next, the cost of getting there is beyond your means, which tells me he's probably in New Zealand or Australia or something.”

“Hate flying too.” Dean figured that was mostly the truth. It wasn't like there were chartered flights to Heaven. 

“That's horrible. I'm sorry.” She hugged herself. “I'm Sally, Mara's my sister in law.”

“Mara...” Dean frowned, “Gina's sister.”

“Right.” She pulled herself up to sit on the fence. “And you are?”

“Dean. Sam's brother.”

“Sam?” She looked towards the party. “That giant of a guy Gina brought?” She looked down at him. “You don't look that much alike, no offense.”

“That's just because he got dropped on his head a few too many times as a baby.” He smiled slightly as Sally gave him a stunned look. “I'm kidding. Seriously, if I had five bucks for every time someone told us that, I wouldn't have to work.”

“Mara was so happy that Gina invited someone to come. She hasn't had a boyfriend in years.”  
Dean frowned. “Why is that?” He took a sip of beer.

“A few years ago, I think it was four or five, not sure which... her boyfriend just vanished one day. And they found his body like, three months later in the middle of Nebraska. They still haven't found who did it.”

“Damn.” Dean said under his breath and then listened to the girl babble on about everyone else at the party, only paying enough attention to make the occasional comment. He really spent his time watching Sam. He hadn't seen his brother this happy in, well, forever, it seemed. Somehow, he had a feeling that Sam might start to look for reasons to get back to Blue Springs and Dean had pretty much no objections. Maybe, just maybe, one of the Winchesters might be able to put an end to their hunting days. Okay, so it was a crazy thought, especially considering Sam had just met the girl, but at least one of the three Winchester brothers deserved a happy ending.

**

Fledglings were not as small as human newborns when they hatched. One might mistake them at first glance for a three-month old infant in terms of size. While angels in their true forms were beyond the height of skyscrapers, they all started this small. The angelic equivalent of puberty was what brought about the true form. It took a fledgling in Heaven two-hundred years to reach that long-waited for age. Time was fluid, even in this place, so two hundred years in Heaven could be as long as an eon on Earth or as short as five years. It was all relative and shockingly, sometimes up to the fledgling itself how long it lasted. Thus Castiel's firm belief that some angels grew up too quickly and didn't learn many of the lessons that needed to be learned. Which is what had landed several members of his garrison on a collision course with a reaper. 

His child was only a few weeks old, Castiel estimated the date of the child's birth to have been July fourth or fifth, depending on the time zone. If asked, he'd say it was the fourth. Unlike humans, when fledglings were born they could already hold their heads steady, but the wings required some adjusting to, after being tightly compacted around the body while in the egg, the sudden freedom could be daunting. Most of them learned to fly before they could walk, though their landings left much to be desired. The child's wings were, like all fledglings, pure white in color and rimmed in gold, feathers that would molt and fall out as the angel grew older and stronger feathers of a different color would grow in their place. Castiel could remember when his own white wings had given way to the mass of brown they were now, save for the very tips, which were black. It had been such a very long time ago. He'd left the nest he'd been hatched from and was already in training as a warrior when his wings had changed. The angels of his garrison all grew at different speeds. Anna, who grew up too fast and Melia, who grew up too slow. Melia had been killed by Uriel in the war. He missed his sister, more than most of the others who had fallen. Melia and he had hatched in the same nest, something they had never told anyone – Castiel didn't even know if their superiors had known. Castiel wasn't sure if other sets of twins had ever been born in the nests of Heaven, had he not been a twin himself, he doubted he'd know of such occurrences. 

He supposed the greatest tragedy of it all was that when fledglings grew up, they forgot who their parents were. He did not know yet if the parents forgot their young, but Castiel thought most likely not. How could you forget such a thing? He watched, smiling as the young angel placidly drank from a bottle, his eyes shut in contentment. The only time an angel ever ate for sustenance was in childhood , when all fledglings thrived on the nectar of the flowers in the Garden. 

He had named his son Liam. 

There were others like Liam now dwelling in nests in Heaven. It was a sign of what the failed Apocalypse had wrought. All of these fledglings differed from their cousins, the Nephilim. The Nephilim were born to humans and left on Earth, more or less abandoned. In retrospect, Castiel could see their behavior almost justified now. Nephilim had no wings, had never tasted the dew from the Garden at the center of Heaven, and they had grown like humans did. Even there, they did not belong. They grew tall and powerful, the size of giants, but it was all raw and undisciplined. Denied what Castiel thought should have been theirs to take part in, naturally they rebelled and attacked. Then they were eradicated, swiftly and efficiently, washed away like blood and dirt upon a floor. Rumors abounded that one had survived: one unborn Nephilim. That story, if it held any truth, the identity of that last half-blooded creature had died from knowledge when Lucifer slew Gabriel.

Gabriel. 

Castiel remembered the archangel best from before his departure, a departure that sadly, went unnoticed for centuries. Even before he had gone to spend time with the pagans, Gabriel had taught all angels how to laugh. He said it was a quality that all angels should have, something to remind them that they were more than holy wrath and fire. Unsurprisingly, the cherubs had caught on quicker than the rest of them. The first time Castiel had ever spoken with Gabriel, he'd been scarcely out of the nest, wings half molted and caught in the throes of angelic puberty. The archangel had smiled at him, albeit sadly and then asked him what he liked best in the entire world.

His answer had been flying. Castiel still loved to fly and now, with his wings restored and his grace overflowing, he longed to fly. For now, however, he rested and tended to Liam. He would teach the child many things: how to walk, how to fly, how to sing. One day in the future, he would set his son upon his feet, perhaps ruffle his hair one last time and give the last two gifts a fledgling received from their parents; an instrument and a small silver dagger. The instruments could be used to trace lineage, for what was given to the parent was also passed onto the child. But the horn, those long trumpet-like instruments Castiel saw depicted on human Christmas cards and ornaments, was something many angels played. The harp was rarer and the drum even more so. His own horn rested just out of reach outside of the nest, where his sword also laid. 

They would be an odd sort of garrison, these new fledglings, for unlike their angelic parents they were bound to have inherited something from their mortal parents that many angels could only dream of having. 

Emotions. True emotions. That odd little quirk that made humans so... so indescribable. What this would mean for the other angels, Castiel did not yet know. For now, he could not begin to care. The bottle was now empty and Liam showed no sign of wanting more, full for the time being and Castiel sat up, holding his child in his arms, looking down at him as he wriggled to adjust his wings. Castiel almost laughed as one batted at his face, the touch of down on his cheek softer than a cloud, before he helped his son fold the appendage neatly and comfortably, snuggling the boy against him. He stretched his own wings up and around the two of them, a secure cocoon of feathers and warmth. Today was an important day for the two of them.

Fledglings born in Heaven already had their true eyes, orbs of glowing holy fire that were so pure, so righteous, a mere glance could incinerate a human. Again, yet one more danger and one more reason Dean could not be here. It took two weeks for the eyes to shift into a non-lethal form. The child wouldn't be able to shift them back to true form until puberty. Being so young and the power of Heaven so overwhelming, a fledgling was blind until their eyes shifted. 

Castiel had been patiently waiting for these last two weeks, for there was nothing in Liam's face that reminded him of Dean, who still did not know of the child's existence. Castiel did not know the words to begin to tell such a tale. He had let Dean know that he was all right, but how to tell Dean that there was proof of their relationship; undeniable and tangible proof, Castiel had no idea. Given how Dean always took things best when done directly, he might just have to wait until it was safe to travel with their child before he saw him again. That wouldn't be until December for Dean, but with the fluidness of time for angels, that could be as close as two weeks from now for Castiel. 

Liam yawned and rubbed his eyes with his fists, and then, slowly, as slowly as the day he worked his way out of his egg, he opened his eyes and breath almost left the angel. Eyes no longer that blazing white gold; his son stared up and for the first time saw his father. Liam gave an ever-so-slight tilt of his head, as if he was surprised by what he saw and Castiel cooed reassuringly to him. Liam already knew his voice and the sound gave him reassurance as he grasped at his father's hand, squeezing one of the fingers tightly in both his hands. Castiel, for his part, could not speak clearly– he was far too overcome. His prayer had been answered. The most precious thing he had ever beheld in his long, long life was staring up at him with the most beautiful green eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

One of the last things Dean had wanted to do was to leave Sam alone at Bobby's. However, Sam had managed to break his foot during their last hunt, and in accordance with Murphy's Law, had picked up a nasty bug from the person who'd been hacking away in the Emergency Room while they'd waited their turn. 

Monsters were rarely considerate enough to lay off for two weeks. Hell, they barely managed one week at times. 

So here Dean was, on his way to Utah, driving off to the ironically named town of Helper. The job seemed pretty straightforward, the typical salt-and-burn mission. The only reason Dean hadn't just put the case on the back burner was because of the vengeful spirit's choice of victim: children - very young children. All the accounted for victims had been between the ages of four and eight. Innocent children being preyed upon trumped pretty much everything in his book. Much as Dean hated leaving his brother... okay, snotty whining Sam he could leave. It was Bobby Dean felt sorry for. Well, maybe. Bobby had suddenly developed a little more tolerance after the odd incident that followed Gabriel's death; Michael had showed up the day after they reached the salvage yard and hauled the old hunter out of his wheelchair then left without a word.

Then there was the little matter of Gina Anelli from Blue Springs, Missouri. The fact that Sam kept her number and actually took her calls spoke volumes to Dean. As far as he knew, the last number from a girl his brother had put into his cell phone had been Jo's, and that was tied to hunting. He was almost positive the last girl who'd been in Sam Winchester's top ten contacts had been Jessica. This was something good, or at least that's what Dean kept telling himself. Three hours of watching the two of them at that Fourth of July picnic and you'd have to be blind not to see the chemistry between them. They hadn't gotten to spend much time together, owing to the way the Winchesters worked. However Dean didn't need to be told what went on when Sam mentioned he'd like to get separate hotel rooms about every other week. The very notion of his little brother having phone-sex with his long distance girlfriend – yes, Dean was going to start calling Gina that – was both amusing and good. At least one of the two of them should be getting some, even if it was just over a phone line. Dean also knew that Sam had sent Gina a gift for her birthday back in September, a silver chain with an anti-possession charm on it. After that whole thing with Ruby and considering that Meg was still out there...

Winchester Rule Number One: Do not, repeat, _do not_ make deals and or get involved with demons. The old Rule Number One, _never talk about what we do,_ was now rule number two. Making deals only caused trouble and agony and the end result was never worth what the deal was for. Looking back on what it caused, Dean wouldn't have made that cross-roads deal to save Sam. He would have killed Azazel and then gone on with life. Somehow, it would have worked out. He might have met Adam. He just might have saved Adam and his mother from those two ghouls. Dean would not have gone to Hell, the First Seal would not have broken and there would have been no Apocalypse. No. No he wouldn't have done that. He might have done a few things differently. But that deal, without that deal...

He wouldn't know Cas.

Dean, for his part, was starting to wish he'd dream about Cas more often. He had no idea what the angel was up to that kept him so busy, but then again, after all Cas had done for the Winchesters, he felt as if he didn't really have any right to complain. Still didn't mean he couldn't miss his angel with a fierce passion. One of the troubling factors about having a romantic relationship with an angel was the fact that when you dreamed about them, you had no way of knowing if it was your own mind or the angel manipulating things inside of your head. Dean figured it _might_ be half-and-half. Either way...

He shook his head to clear it and glanced at his watch. It was almost six in the evening. It was already dark and the snowflakes brushing against the Impala's windshield told him that he'd have to stop for the night. He wasn't about to risk getting stuck in the middle of nowhere in mid-December. Cell phone service was patchy at best in the Rocky Mountains and, given the other ways he's died, freezing to death on the side of the road when he could have stopped was near the top of his list of ways not to go.

The first motel in the next town was more forlorn than anything else. Dean dropped his duffel bag on the single bed, glancing around his accommodations. A table with two chairs, a television that had probably been new ten years ago sitting in a cabinet-dresser combo that was clearly the newest piece of furniture in the room and in the closet, two extra blankets were folded on the shelf. A microwave stood on the counter outside the bathroom next to one of those two-cup coffee pots. The cheapest motel in this town that was a rest-stop on the way to the ski resorts of the Rockies was actually one of the nicer places he'd stayed. But it was still forlorn looking. Probably because every time Dean walked into a single bed room, he felt lonely. Weird, but true.

He was sitting down at the table to his dinner of take-out burger and fries when his phone rang. Dean smiled at the ring-tone of 'Smoke on the Water' and pulled it towards him, hoping and fully expecting to see either Bobby's or Sam's number on screen. It wasn't. It was Sally's. _“What the hell?”_ He took a swig of beer, wincing faintly at the particularly strong taste of hops in his mouth (the only kind he'd found for sale was some local brewery's 'winter ale') and then hit the answer button. “Hey.”

There was a sniffle and then the girl cleared her throat. “Hey Dean. Look, I'm sorry to be bothering you but – ” she coughed, “Gina's been trying to call Sam and he's not answering. She's sort of freaked out.”

Dean smiled faintly and picked up a fry. “Sam's fine. Well, he's got a really, really nasty flu bug. That's probably why he's not answering the phone.” 

“You there with him? She's just, well, you know...” 

He sighed softly and leaned back in his seat. “He's at our uncle's house. I'm away for a few days.”

Sally let out a deep breath. “So he's fine?”

“Last time I spoke to him, which was this morning. Just the flu and a broken foot.” Dean snorted and munched on his food. “He fell but he'll be okay.”

“He broke his foot?” Dean heard a scuffle for a moment before the panicked voice of Gina screeched in his ear.

“Gina, Sam's fine. He just gets all pissy when he's sick or hurt. Give him another day and he'll be back to normal for him.” Why did his brother have to go for such emotional chicks? 

“How did he break his foot?” She was starting to sound a little freaked again. “How...”

“Gina, could you put Sally back on the phone again, please?” Dean was about ready to scream as he took another sip of beer. Telling the exact circumstance in which Sam injured himself wasn't something he was about to do.

“Fine – ” Gina replied and Dean heard a muffled shuffling again. 

“Hey.” Sally's voice sounded the way Dean felt.

“Sally, can you do something for me?” He stood up, his eyes focused on the snow whirling outside. 

“I think so, what is it?” There was a sound that he guessed was her taking a drink.

“You at your brother's house right now? Down in Peculiar?”

“Yeah.” 

“You and Mara... go take Gina out somewhere, get her mind off this. Sam's fine. She doesn't need to worry. He's broken a lot more than his foot in his life. He'll be his usual overgrown puppy self about this time tomorrow.”

“Going to be kind of hard. She doesn't want to turn her cell off in case he calls.” Sally let out a frustrated sigh.

“Well, I know it's kind of low, but you could try guilt tripping her.” Dean smiled at the notion. “Just find something to keep her mind off of Sam.”

“I guess we can try that.” There was a muffled sound and then Sally was back on the phone. “Does Sam like sugar cookies?”

 _Cookies?_ Dean bit back a retort. “Yeah. That's one of the few sweet things he'll eat.”

“'K. And Dean? Thanks.” Sally let out a relieved sound. “To tell you the truth, the way she carries on about your brother, it kind of makes me want to hit her with a frying pan sometimes.”

“Considering you work at a steakhouse, I imagine you're quite lethal with one of those.” Dean chuckled, feeling a little better. “And please, don't let her call me back in five minutes asking if I've talked to Sam. I'd sort of like to eat my dinner before it gets cold.”

“Sure.” Sally let out a laugh. “Knowing her, she's liable to make enough cookies for both of you and your uncle. Bye.”

“Take care of yourselves.” Dean pressed the off button on his phone and sat back down at the table. He picked his burger back up and took a massive bite out of it. He focused his attention on the window and the swirling snow outside. It'd been a while since he'd just sat and done something like that. When they were little, he and Sam used to fog up the windows of the motels their dad left them in and draw pictures on the glass. They couldn't waste paper to make snowflakes and other such things. Even though there was usually a pad of paper in every motel room, Dad had usually commandeered them for note taking. But the brothers had drawn swirls and just about anything and when they were done, they'd wipe the art away and just watch the fat flakes fall the same way they'd sometimes just stop and stare at the stars. He swallowed and took a drink of soda. This thing Sam had with Gina was starting to sound more serious than Dean had thought it was. As happy as he was for his little brother - there was no way of getting around it - he was jealous.

Jealous because Sam had someone. Long distance, yes, but it was someone. For them, there was a chance, probably less than fifty percent right now, but a chance. Dean, when it came to him and Cas... well, that had started slipping away months ago. 

“Dean?” 

He jumped and turned towards the far side of the room. “Cas? What is it?” He rose to his feet, surprised that he'd not heard the angel enter the room.

“I cannot stay very long, Dean.” Castiel closed his arms around the man, stroking his hair slowly as he felt Dean's face settle against his neck.

“What? How'd you find me? The uh...” Dean had thought the sigils on his ribcage kept him shielded from angels.

“It is something I do not have time to explain at the moment.” Castiel guided the two of them over to sit on the bed and he pulled away, taking Dean's face in both of his hands. “It's good to see you.”

“It is good to see you too, Cas.” He swallowed as the angel lowered his hands from his face to clasp his for a moment and then pulled away slightly. “What's wrong?”

The angel looked down at their hands, frowning ever so slightly. “I have missed you, Dean.”

Dean jerked his hands away, feeling foolish. They couldn't go back to that, they never could – they probably shouldn't have started in the first place.

“Do not think like that, Dean.” Castiel wished they could just go back to holding one another. “I would not change what happened between us.” Cas sighed and his shoulders slumped. It was peaceful to just be here, away from the noise of Heaven. While he could still hear it in his head, it was now muted and didn't seem as irritating since he was no longer in the thick of it. “It is late, you should get some rest.”

“Cas, it's just past seven...”

“I know, but you have had a long day.” Cas smiled faintly and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “I will be back soon. I do not want you to wait up for me to return. You need sleep.”

Leaving was one of the last things Dean wanted Cas to do – but before he could voice it, that nagging voice in the back of his mind – the one that always told him _not for you, not now, not you, not you ever –_ silenced him. “So you'll be here in the morning then?”

The angel smiled. “Yes. When are you going to learn this is the one argument you cannot hope to win with me, Dean?”

“Probably when I'm dead and I can't sleep any longer.” He crumpled up the remains of his dinner and threw it into the trash.

Castiel smiled as he watched Dean get up and head to the bathroom. “When you're dead I intend to make it a point to keep you by my side almost always,” he said under his breath, his eyes following the man. “You have no idea what sort of Heaven is waiting for you.”

As Dean stood in the bathroom, scrubbing at his teeth, he tried to remember the last time he'd had a seriously good rest. At least a year, maybe longer than that. He spat a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. “I suppose you're just going to knock me out to make sure I rest.”

“It might come to that.” Castiel stood up and slowly walked towards the bathroom. “I will try not to wake you when I arrive.”

He rinsed his mouth out and went to change into sleep shirt and sweats. “Cas...”

The angel smiled and came over to embrace him tightly. “I want you to rest. Your sleeplessness causes me to worry.”

Dean held onto the angel for dear life, willing himself not to cry. “Don't worry about...”

“Do not tell me what I get to worry about, Dean. You of all people should know what happens when you try and tell me not to do something.”

He let out a weak chuckle. “Tough little nerd angel.”

Castiel squeezed him tighter. “Stubborn, obstinate, irreverent little human.”

“You like it when I'm irreverent.” Dean's voice was muffled against Castiel's neck. 

The angel chuckled softly. “I better let go before I am tempted to stay longer. I will be here when you wake.”

“Have to get to Utah in the morning. There's a monster that's targeting kids.”

Castiel didn't need Dean to explain any further. When it came to hunting, anything that was targeting children ranked number one on his priority list. “Where in Utah?” 

“Helper.” Dean pulled away, although it was the last thing he wanted to do. “Cas?”

“Rest.” Castiel kissed Dean on the forehead again, not trusting himself to make contact with his lips. “I have told you that I will be here when you wake and now, the problem in Helper will be gone.” A moment later, the angel tapped Dean on the forehead and when he lowered his hand, Dean was sound asleep under the covers of the bed. He leaned down, brushed his fingers through his hair and whispered against the hunter's ear. “I will be bringing someone with me, Dean. Someone who I've wanted you to meet for months now...” 

With that, Castiel pulled away and returned to Heaven.

**

The location in Heaven where the fledglings were born and raised was so well protected, so well hidden that attacking it was unfathomable. Very few parents ever left the nests without their young so the nectar that the children fed on was delivered by cherubs who were still in training. Castiel had left his nest only for the span of five minutes, perhaps ten. During that time, he'd not left Liam alone – rather, after using a few contacts, he returned to his home within his home to find things almost exactly as he had left them with Liam sucking placidly on his bottle in the arms of his grandmother, Mary Winchester. 

“You're back.” She didn't look up from the child's face; her own face was practically radiating joy. 

“Yes.” Castiel carefully folded the raincoat he had worn while on Earth and climbed back into the warm nest. It only vaguely resembled an actual nest, at least, those that were built by birds. At first glance, might resemble a very large cushioned basin. “Were there any difficulties?”

Mary shook her head in reply. “No. He just seems to want to eat.” She looked up at him, her smile bright – and strangely, it made the angel think of Dean. “Although, it is sort of odd, being a grandmother to an angel.”

Castiel settled himself a few feet away from her. “I want to thank you for not...” He thought for a moment, searching for the right words. “I believe the phrase is 'freaking out' when you were asked to come here.”

Mary chuckled. “It wasn't the sort of request I was expecting when that, uh cherub or what exactly?”

“Cherub is the correct rank for Muriel – although most cherubs aren't as... low key as she is.”

“If materializing out of an ornament on a Christmas tree is low key, I'd hate to think what cherubs are normally like.” She shook her head and looked back down at Liam. “I also think you're wrong about him not looking like Dean, he's got Dean's chin. Same damn stubborn chin all the men in the Winchester family seem to have.” She flinched. “Sorry.”

“It is all right.” Castiel smiled faintly. “You think he resembles Dean?”

“A little.” She finally coaxed Liam into giving up the empty bottle. Despite the fact that he was now able to sit up and hold the bottle on his own, he still preferred to be held while he ate. “Children change. Sam and Dean both looked the same when they were born. Same chin, same patch of fuzz on their heads, same chubby cheeks and then...” She leaned back against the side of the nest, studying the child. “well...”

“I know,” he replied. “I believe many people are unable to tell they are brothers at first glance.”

She chuckled. “After seeing them, I can understand that. John's father and uncles were like that too. Unless their mother was with them or they were arguing, you'd never know they were related just by appearances.” She looked up from the child. “You didn't tell him, did you?”

“No.” Castiel let out a sigh and felt his shoulders fall slightly. “I am – I suppose I did not want to leave for very long.”

“Perhaps it was the desire to stay there that kept you from speaking.” Mary shook her head. “You'll be going back soon then?”

“Yes. I will take Liam with me next time.” Castiel knew that it was potentially one of the greatest risks he could take with his child at this point, but Dean needed to see, needed to _know_ before Liam took it into his head he was tired of just watching and exploring their home. There was talk among the angels that the children like Liam wouldn't be put in a garrison together. Some wouldn't even be put into Michael's Legion at all, like many of their parents. As soon as it was determined who would take control of the angels that _should_ be under Gabriel's command, some of the fledglings would be selected to join that group – possibly all of them. The most shocking revelation that had come from this new breed of not-quite angels was this: being half human, they would be able to take on a human form on Earth, freeing them from the burden of finding a vessel. 

Mary set the child down, still smiling. “I do hope that you will let me see him again before he grows up.”

Castiel smiled as Liam rolled over from his back to his stomach and then stretched out his wings, overbalanced and was right back on his back again. “Of course, Mary. I do not believe it would be in my power to keep you from him.”

She nodded, bent down and placed a kiss on Liam's forehead. “You be a good boy, sweetie. Don't give either of your dads too much trouble.” 

“Thank you again, Mary.”

The woman smiled and climbed out of the nest, ruffling Castiel's hair affectionately, as if he were a puppy. “You're most welcome, Castiel.” She gave Liam one last glance and slowly walked towards the door of the room, where Muriel was waiting to take her back to her own Heaven. 

Castiel turned back to Liam, who was studying his hand as he opened and closed it, like it was the most fascinating thing in the entire universe. “Well, little one, guess it's time to get you ready to leave.”

**

Sam wasn't too perturbed about being left behind in South Dakota while Dean went on a hunt in Utah. The pain in his foot he could deal with, it was the insane flu that he was also suffering from that was the true source of his agony. The good news was, he'd stopped throwing up, but that could have been because he'd gone to a straight diet of water and broth this morning. He glanced at the clock and shook his head. It was just after ten at night and from the lack of sound coming from downstairs, Bobby was either deep in research or deep in sleep. He didn't feel horrible anymore, he just felt worn out. 

He leaned over, flicked the lamp on and picked up his phone. One call from Dean and ten calls from Gina. Sam wasn't sure if he should laugh at that or not. Dean had no doubt called to just let him know he'd reached the place he was staying for the night safely, which was probably somewhere in Eastern Colorado or Wyoming. Gina, on the other hand was a completely different story. He was actually glad Dean wasn't there to give him a hard time about the 'possessiveness of that Blue Springs chick' – but Sam usually let such remarks slide. Despite the fact that he was still hunting, he actually felt more content these past five months than he had in a very long time. He double checked the time and quickly scrolled through his contacts before hitting the dial button. It only rang twice before it was answered.

“Sam? Sam is that you?” She sounded half panicked, half relieved.

“Yeah, it's me. What's wrong?” Sam grabbed a Kleenex and rubbed his nose.

“I talked to Dean. He said you broke your foot! Are you okay?”

Sam hacked once. “I'm fine, Gina. Little under the weather. I've been hurt worse than this.”

She let out a deep breath. “I was just worried.” She suddenly sounded embarrassed when she said, “You must think I'm a total spaz.”

“No, no it's okay.” Sam coughed again. “Could have done without catching the flu from someone in the ER, but other than that, just fine.”

“Well, I'm glad you called. Sorry if the reception changes; I'm going upstairs. Apart from sick and injured, how are you?”

“Not bad, yourself?” He took a sip of water from the glass that Bobby had left on the table, grimacing slightly at the warm taste. 

“I'm at my sister's house. It was just for dinner and then, well it turned into a holiday baking thing I should have known better when she asked me to pick up some flour and sugar on my way here.” She let out a sigh. “What are you doing for the season?”

“Nothing much. At least nothing I that I know of.” Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Dean had to go out of town for a few days. We'll probably just have dinner at our uncle's house and watch some football.”

“I'd invite you down.” There was a pause followed by a crash. “But family, you know.”

“Yeah. What was that?”

“That would be my brother-in-law getting the tree out of storage. Why he wants to do it at ten at night is beyond me.” Sam could almost see the woman's eyes roll through the phone. “It wouldn't be the first time he's done something like this.”

“I bet.” Sam rubbed at his nose again. “So you called Dean?”

“Actually...” He heard the embarrassment in her voice. “Sally called Dean. I was starting to freak her out.”

“Whatever gave her that idea?” He started to chuckle and that shortly turned into a cough.

“Well, you know, I told you about what happened to Justin.”

“Yeah.” Sam took another drink of water. He'd done some researching of his own and discovered that Justin Rawls had been like him – one of Azazel's special children – and had most likely been killed by Ava Wilson. “Sorry to make you worry like that. I guess I'm so used to it just being a few family members that adding a new person to the mix throws me for a loop.” He was starting to feel a lot better, just talking to her. “Seriously, don't worry too much about me.”

“Can't help it, it's a habit of mine. When I was in grade school my best friend had her tonsils taken out and I was freaked the whole time, even though I knew it was a fairly simple operation.”

“You've got a caring personality, that's all.” Sam took another drink of water. “Not keeping you up, am I?”

“I'm good.” There was a round of cursing and then she laughed. “I think Greg just found where he left that rock collection of his.”

“Sounds crazy.” He closed his eyes, leaned back against the headboard and set a pillow in his lap. “Sorry I didn't call earlier this week.”

“No, don't start with that.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Holidays make everything go insane.” She sighed. “I hate to ask this, but do you know if you'll be able to come by anytime soon?”

Sam let out a long breath. “I dunno, I might be able to.” He and Dean had stuck to the story of being just in town for a few days back in July – no specific job listed. “Have to see what's going on.”

“It just... it sucks, you know?”

“I agree. It totally sucks.” He closed his eyes, wincing faintly. “I'd sort of like to be there right now, but I'd probably give you this nasty flu bug I caught.”

“Well, your brother didn't catch it.” 

“I don't think I'd want to do the things with my brother that I'd like to and have done with you, Gin.” He grinned. “And you just went red, didn't you?”

“Sam!” Gina couldn't keep the embarrassed giggle from her voice.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be sorry, just focus on getting better! Maybe you can come down for New Years or something... I don't care if your brother has to tag along.” There was a pause. “I keep forgetting, where does his boyfriend live? Is it Australia or New Zealand?”

“Christchurch. That's in New Zealand,” Sam replied, glad that Dean had developed some sort of cover story for Cas. The only trouble was that when the angel showed up again, they'd have to explain to him what was going on, if needs be. In retrospect, Sam felt that the lie about Castiel's true home was rather justified. Given the looks Sam had seen some women – and even a few men – give his brother in the past few months, which Dean had completely ignored, the angel really didn't have any real reason to object. 

“Must be hard for him, but they still get to talk, right?”

“Yeah.” He took another drink of water. “Time zones tend to be a problem now and then.” He coughed as he set the glass back down. “Excuse me.”

“You don't sound all that bad. Or is that the decongestant talking?”

“I sound a lot better than I feel. It's either take the cold medicine for the flu or take the pain meds for the foot. I'm going for the former at this point.” He adjusted himself in bed, flicking the light off and laying back down. “Listen, I'll see if I can talk Dean into going down to KC for New Years. Hell, he and Sally can probably find something to do. She's been a good friend for him.”

“I think you've got that the other way around. Sally was an absolute wreck about Tim until Dean showed up. Quite frankly, I think Tim rather likes the idea of her having someone who she can empathize with while he's gone. Hell, odds are if you do come down here and the two of them find something to do together, Tim would be glad there was someone to keep the guys off of her.”

“Well, if we do manage to make it, 'fraid dancing will have to be off the menu, I'll still be on crutches.”

“Hey, if all we do is sit and play Scrabble and drink wine, I'll be happy.”

Sam smiled. “Gin, I'll do what I can to convince Dean to come down there, but if we can't...”

“I know, I know. I'm just glad you're in the same country. Still don't know how Sally does it.”

“It's late, you should get some sleep.” Sam covered a yawn. “I should get some more sleep myself. See if I can wear this bug out.”

“You take care of yourself, you hear?” Gina answered with a yawn of her own. 

“I'll do what I can.” He closed his eyes, feeling pleasantly warm. “Sorry I didn't call you back sooner.”

“Hey, not your fault. I really should learn not to panic.”

“Don't start on that, you've got good reasons.” 

“Yeah. G'nite Sam.”

“'Night Gina.” Sam heard her end the call before hitting the off button on his own cell and setting the phone back down on the side table. After blowing his nose, he readjusted himself, grunting as his foot twitched in pain. As he pulled the covers up to his chin, he heard the unmistakable sound of frozen rain lashing against the windows. “Hope the weather's nicer south of here.” He yawned again and fell asleep. 

**

The temperature in the motel room was colder than Castiel had expected – sometime during his departure a few hours ago and now, the snowstorm outside had worsened and the heater was doing its best to keep things reasonably warm. He was glad, however, that he'd gotten Liam to sleep before they left. Quietly, he tucked the child into the bed next to Dean, then retrieved the other two blankets from the closet and added them to the bed-covers. He quickly started putting up more wards to keep out more than just what the salt lines and various other charms would. He'd actually gotten rid of the monster in Utah before returning to Heaven earlier this evening, so there was a little more time bought for the three of them. He double checked everything before undressing and sliding into bed on Liam's other side. Even in sleep, the fledgling turned towards him, seeking out the one person he knew best with his Grace. For his part, it wasn't so much the blankets or the extra body heat that was keeping Castiel warm. It was the knowledge that for the first time in months, the family was all together in one place. He moved over until his head rested just a few feet from Dean's and set his hand on Liam's back, the way they almost always slept. Tomorrow would be a lot of firsts for this family. He just hoped that Dean would be able to handle them all. 

“Cas?” Dean coughed, having been awoken by the shifting of weight on the bed. “That you?”

“Yes.” The angel moved his hand from Liam's back to the side of Dean's head, rubbing it softly. “Go back to sleep.”

“Don't wanna sleep.” Dean's eyes flicked open. “I've been sleeping. What time is it?”

“It's just after one.” Castiel smiled. “It's better if you sleep.”

“Dude, it was before eight when I went to bed...” Dean rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. “That's – I don't need that much sleep.”

This wasn't exactly how Castiel had planned all of this. Truthfully, he hadn't planned this out all that clearly in the first place. At least Dean was keeping his voice down. “Humor me.”

Dean chuckled in response. “Fine, fine. I'll stay in bed, but I can't promise to fall asleep.”

It was right then Dean felt a soft kick against his ribs. “What?” He turned back towards Castiel and saw the other figure in the bed. It was too small to be anything but an infant or a very small child. This was... awkward. “Uh, Cas...” Dean swallowed. “Who's your friend?”

The angel let out a low breath and sat up a little. “This is Liam.”

“Liam?” Dean frowned. “I don't suppose you're gonna tell me that...”

“It's complicated, Dean.” Castiel rubbed the infant's back. “I... I was surprised.”

“Surprised?” Dean sat up, almost immediately wanting to sink back into the blankets at the sharp contrast of the cool room against his skin. “You mean...” His mind started working faster than he thought it could without the influence of coffee at this time of the morning. He lay back down rubbing his eyes. “So... wait, wait... how is this even possible?”

Castiel sighed and pulled the blankets back over the three of them. “It... it just happened, Dean. It was not something that could be prevented.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dean kept his voice quiet, even though he felt like screaming.

“Angels can be conceived in the same way humans are and that is usually how it arises. But sometimes, angels can come into being in other ways. I... this is why I couldn't come and see you sooner than now. It wasn't safe.”

Dean was still trying to process everything. _A kid. Cas and I have a kid. This has got to be a dream of some kind_ \- “So Liam...he's what, half human, half angel?”

“Yes.” Castiel sighed. “Although, before you ask, he differs from the Nephilim.”

“How?” Dean couldn't help the way his voice raised slightly.

“The Nephilim were born to human mothers. They came about in the human way. There are other children like Liam. Although not all of their angelic and human parents had carnal relationships.”

“Dude...” Dean covered his eyes with his hand. “Sorry, just hearing that word out of an angel's mouth....”

“I believe you've heard more... I believe your term was 'dirty'... words out of my mouth than carnal. Most of which I will not repeat now because of the presence of a child.” He was certain Dean's ears had turned red. “And now you are stunned that I said that with a straight face.”

“Crap, you can read minds again, can't you?” Dean lowered his hand and turned over to face the angel. “So – I mean – I'm not sure how to handle something like this, Cas. I mean, the closest I've come to this situation before was when I met Ben.”

“The Braeden boy.” Castiel let out a soft breath. “I know of whom you speak. I also know that you still think about his mother from time to time.” 

Dean turned his face into his pillow. “Cas, I'm -”

“Do not apologize, Dean. I know of your desire to have a home and a family and you have already realized that won't be entirely possible with me.” Castiel felt his heart lurch at the words. “I am sorry.”

“Don't. Just don't Cas.” He turned back towards the two of them, taking a deep breath. “This isn't the sort of time for us to be all melodramatic and chick-flicky.” He reached out and touched the angel's face with his fingertips. “We have time right now. Let's just enjoy it and save our... lover's quarrels or whatever you want to call this for when I'm dreaming and you're in Heaven.”

Castiel bit off the desire to issue a retort and instead moved a little closer to Dean, so the two of them were almost head to head, with Liam still dozing between them. “Very well.” 

Dean tentatively put his hand over Cas' on the boy's back, trying not to think about how very real and yet unbelievable all of this was right now. “Liam huh? Where'd that name come from?”

Castiel slid his hand out from under Dean's and then set it against Dean's face, rubbing his cheekbone with his thumb. “I named him after his father.” He smiled. “The strong-willed warrior.” 

*

Dean woke up the next morning to the sensation of someone poking at his face. He absently brushed his hand in front of his face, half asleep. “Stop it Sam, I'm up.” There was a small noise that sounded almost like a chirp and he slowly opened his eyes. A pair of bright green eyes, exactly like his own, were staring back at him, blinking in confusion. “Oh, hello.” He was pretty much at a loss as what to do otherwise. “You're up.” He looked behind him at the table next to the bed. “It's really that late?”

“Yes,” Castiel spoke from his spot in front of the window. “Although most people would not consider seven late.”

Dean sat up in bed and Liam promptly crawled into his lap, still gazing up at him. “He always this affectionate?”

“He is curious.” The angel turned, walked over to the bed and sat down. “Until now, he has only seen human souls. He has never seen one in an earthly body until now.” He smiled. “Although I have told him about you, I am unsure of how much he comprehended.”

“He's a... how old is he exactly?” Dean adjusted the boy on his lap, frowning. “If I went by size alone I'd say... I dunno... seven, eight months?”

“Chronologically, he is five months old. His mental age is about what you guessed although he has not exhibited much desire to move under his own power too often. He would rather sit and observe for the time being.” Castiel smiled and brushed the boy's unruly dark hair down. “Which has been fine with me. I have... it has been a long time, Dean.”

“Yeah...” He sighed as Liam climbed out of his lap and crawled across the bed to climb into Castiel's. “He's beautiful, Cas.” True, it sounded corny the moment he said it, but what else was there to say? “What's the weather like out there?”

“It's still snowing. Even if I was not here with you, I do not believe you would be able to leave this town and head for Utah.” He looked down, sighing. “In truth Dean, I did not have any idea of what would happen when you finally met Liam, nor did I have any plans further than last night's rest.”

Dean coughed and stood up to make some coffee. “Well, it's not like I had any plans other than ganking that monster and getting back to Sioux Falls before Christmas, so there you have it... no plans made pretty much clears our schedules.” He frowned. “Or do you have to go back in just a few hours?”

Castiel smiled. “I can spare a few days. It is not so much the lack of time but the amount of danger involved with having an angel as young as Liam is on Earth.”

“He's not in a vessel, is he?” Dean turned from the coffee pot. “He's...”

“This is his current form, although I have managed to hide his wings in case we are seen. But he will never require a vessel, given his parentage, even when he achieves his true form.”

“True form?” He poured himself a cup of coffee and came back over to the bed, where Liam had crawled from his father's lap and was now peering down at the floor below, looking as if he was contemplating the distance and the best method to get down. “What do you mean by true form? Is that how Raphael was able to knock out the power to the Eastern Seaboard? He was moving in true form? And is that how all those trees in Pontiac got uprooted?”

“Yes.” Castiel lowered Liam to the floor before he could take a nosedive and the child made his way across the room, heading for the table. “But, most likely, that will not come about for many years.”

“Your idea of time or mine?” Dean sat down next to him, taking a drink of coffee.

“Yours.” Castiel tilted his head to the side, frowning. “I would suspect his true form will be close to the same size as mine when he achieves it.”

“Just how big is that, anyway?” He took another sip of coffee.

“Roughly the size of the Chrysler Building.”

Dean hacked on the mouthful of coffee and spluttered. “Are you kidding?”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “Why would I make something like that up?”

He set the cup down and coughed once or twice, trying to regain his breath. “It's just that's pretty crazy, Cas. Thinkin' of you being that tall.” Dean was marking this day as the strangest he'd had in close to forever. “Wait... wait... forget that for a moment...” His mind had just registered something else. “...You're telling me the kid has wings?”

“Of course he has wings.” Castiel frowned. “Angels are born with them. They are as much of an appendage to us as arms and legs are to you.” He sighed as Liam made his way back over to them and pulled himself to a stand using the bedspread. “I realize this must be daunting for you.”

“That's an understatement.” Dean picked his cup back up and took a gulp of coffee. The truth of the matter was, it wasn't so daunting and hard to believe. However, this was just another way to remind him of the very vast difference between him and Cas. That he was just a human – and a pretty insignificant one at that. 

“Can you really think that about yourself, Dean?” Castiel put one hand on his shoulder. This is the way it always was with Dean. The feeling that somehow he didn't deserve the blessings he received , it was one of the things he dearly wished he could get the man to accept, that he was worthy of the fortune and gifts that he was given. “I do not think of you as such.”

“Cas...” Dean wanted to argue the point that really, he wasn't much in this family of three, but still...

“You forget, Dean Winchester, I have seen you out of your mortal coil – I saw what you were before I put you back together and that was nothing insignificant. Even among the light from the angels, your soul was a shining beacon in that unspeakably filthy pit in Hell.”

He was about to issue another retort when Castiel pressed his lips against his. The culmination of nearly eight months apart, meeting only briefly in dreams that Dean still wasn't sure were shared or just in his own head, the desire, the longing, the just plain togetherness that he had missed was there, in that single kiss. He slid a hand behind Cas' head and returned and deepened the kiss, the tip of his tongue grazing along the angel's teeth. The last time he had kissed Castiel, the angel had tasted faintly of peppermint and booze. Now, now he tasted of something akin to honey, something he couldn't entirely place, but yet it was familiar. _It's been too damn long._ That was about the only completely coherent thought Dean could manage as he slid both hands onto the sides of the angel's face, not wanting to break the touch for anything. 

Castiel didn't want to end the kiss either, wanted to just stay there, in that moment – for as long as possible. Reluctantly, almost hesitantly, he pulled back and placed another kiss on Dean's forehead. “Don't ever think you don't deserve to be happy, Dean.”

“I -” His next word was cut off by a yowl of pain and the two of them looked down to see Liam, one hand grasping Castiel's slacks and having managed to grab a hold of some of Dean's skin through his pajama pants. Dean took one look at the child's face and snickered. “Oh no.”

“What is it?” Castiel couldn't imagine what could be wrong.

“That's the _exact_ same look Sam used to get when he was up to no good. And don't go telling me Liam _can't_ cause any trouble. Just because he's a little angel doesn't mean he can't get up to mischief.” He leaned down and pulled the boy into his lap as Castiel's smile suddenly became a little more pronounced and he made a small noise that sounded like an amused huff. “One of these days we're going to get you to laugh, Cas. Might take a long time, but I'm looking forward to making you chuckle someday.”

“You are not funny, Dean.” Castiel made an attempt at looking offended, but then took a second look at the pair – both of them giving him the exact same expectant look, eyebrows raised, green eyes wide. “And I do believe I am outnumbered....” 

*

The next few days were probably among the best of Dean's life. Being snowed-in at the motel didn't prove to be too big of a problem, particularly since Cas had no issue in going off to get food. The manager of the place had called all of the rooms, checking on the people who were currently stuck there and the only thing Dean had gotten from the intrepid workers of the place were clean towels and soap. The staff never knew that two more people were staying in the room with him. He'd also gotten hold of Sam and told him what was going on and then told him that unless it was an emergency, he wasn't going to be answering his phone. Sam had pleaded TMI and hung up. Dean didn't know what his brother's problem was. He had caught him and Gina having phone sex once before Sam had the foresight to start getting separate rooms from time to time. He did not tell Sam about Liam however. He wanted to do that in person. Cas had been slightly bemused at the story the Winchesters had fabricated about him, but nonetheless agreed with it. 

“Is he still sleeping?” Castiel came in from the bathroom, rubbing at his damp hair with a towel. 

“Yeah,” Dean said from his spot on the bed, where Liam was lying down with Dean's leather jacket over him as a blanket. “Does he usually sleep this much?”

“Occasionally.” He leaned down and kissed the top of Dean's head. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Back's a little sore, but a good sore.” He smirked at the angel. “So don't start with your apologies.”

Castiel shook his head and set the towel down by the sink. “I wouldn't dream of it.” He gave Dean a look. “You seemed to enjoy it.” 

Dean felt his ears turn slightly pink and he looked back down at Liam. “Well, you got me there.” He sighed. “You have to leave tomorrow, don't you?”

“Yes.” The angel came back to the bed and sat down. “I don't know when it will be possible for me to come back. Again, the trouble isn't me, it's...”

“Cas, we've been through this. I don't want the two of you taking risks you shouldn't for my sake. I'll be fine. Hell, you've got your Grace back, so it's not like we can't talk.”

Castiel slid an arm around Dean's shoulders and hugged him. “I know, but even you do not feel it's the same.”

“It's better than nothing.” He returned the hug. “Still wish there was something I could do for the two of you, I mean...”

“It is not necessary. The things that are needed to rear a fledgling in Heaven are already being provided.”

“I still feel like I should do something.” Dean rubbed the back of his head. “Guess you can chalk it up to my human nature or what-have-you.”

“Keep yourself safe. That is what you can do for the two of us,” Castiel said, his tone turning serious. 

“Can't promise that, but I'll try.” 

The angel gave him another hug and kissed his cheek. “That's all I ask.”

**

Sam shifted in the backseat of the Impala, adjusting his foot on the pillow across from him. “Dean, I really appreciate this.” 

“No problem. Though what you and Gina are going to be doing, I have -” Dean paused. “Wait, I don't think I want to know what you guys are gonna be doing.”

Sam chuckled and made a face at his brother.. “I know you made plans with Sally.”

“Sally's a friend, Sam. You know that. Besides, I told Cas about her. Not to mention the little factor that she's ten years my junior. I was killing werewolves when she was learning to read.” Dean shook his head. “Anyway, she found some theater that's got a special event. They're showing the classic _Star Wars_ trilogy, not all that newfangled stuff they added when we were teens Sam. I'm talking classic, Han shoots first, the old guy's playing Anakin at the end of _Jedi,_ all they did was clean up the print _Star Wars.”_

“Yeah, and you're not a geek.” Sam snorted. 

“Well, she doesn't drink and watching Ryan Seacrest in Times Square isn't exactly our cup of tea. Not to mention she's actually amazed she got the night off...” Dean sighed. “Didn't you say you were going to a movie too?”

“Yeah.” He looked slightly abashed. “Gina's been looking for someone to go see _Dawn Treader_ with and – ” He glared at Dean who'd started to chuckle. “Go ahead, keep laughing.” He snorted. “You're the one going to see _Star Wars_.”

“And eat dinner while I'm at it.” Dean sighed. “Sorry I didn't get back in time for Christmas. That was horrible.” He shook his head. “Two hours from Sioux Falls and they close the highway.”

“Well, I'd rather you be safe in a motel in Mitchel than freezing to death on I-90.” Sam sighed. “So here we are, heading down to KC two days before New Year's, just because you're worried it will snow again.”

“I seem to recall a certain someone's eyes lighting up followed by the phrase 'I need to get cleaned up' when I agreed to make the journey.” Dean smirked. “Yeah, I'm happy for you Sammy. Gina's a great girl.”

Sam smiled and looked back out the window. “So, we gonna work a case next week?”

“Depends on how well your foot's healed up. Maybe we can find a few easy ones. Nothing more than salt-and-burns until your foot's no longer out of commission.” 

“Yeah... sounds good,” he said quietly.

Dean glanced in the rear-view mirror at his brother, thinking. The time between finding hunts was starting to grow longer. It used to be a few days, sometimes a week and if they were really lucky, two weeks. Either the monsters were running to ground following the failed Apocalypse, or the angels had gone on a monster killing spree before going home. Whatever it was he didn't want to admit it, didn't want to say it, but he had to. “Sam - I know that look.”

“What look?” Sam didn't turn from the window.

“That's the look you used to get when you'd think about not hunting.” Dean sighed as he eased the Impala past a semi. “Look...”

“Dean, I...” Sam took a deep breath before speaking again. “...I don't know if- I mean -”

“One of us should get what they want in life, Sam. Adam might have gotten it if there hadn't been those two ghouls. So if it's down to you or me, I'd rather you have it. You've wanted it forever.”

“And you haven't?” Sam voice was incredulous. “I don't -”

“We don't have to make any decisions, Sam. But I know you. 'Sides, I've seen your face when you talk about Gina. You get the same look you had when you used to talk about Jess.”

The younger Winchester let out a long breath. “I do, huh?”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed. “Like I said, it's something we can talk about after this weekend. See how things are after that.”

Sam shrugged. “I just... Fine.” He leaned back against the door. “So, when you going to see Cas again? You pick a time?”

“Don't know... it's not exactly easy for him to slip down here anymore.” Dean sighed. “I try not to think about it, actually.” He reached into his pocket and dug out his phone. “Wanna show you something.” He held it out to Sam. “Scroll through the pictures on that. The ones I want you to see are near the end.”

Sam took the phone, smirking. He figured his brother had snapped some shots of him and Gina back in September and wanted to show him what _look_ he was talking about.“You know...” He started scrawling through thumbnails, most of them weird shots of plates of food, a few badly aimed shots of the Impala – and then he stopped. 

The seventh photograph from the end was of a sleeping infant, a fuzz of dark hair wearing an off-white set of pajamas, or a onesie - it was hard to tell with Dean's leather jacket covering his lower half. Along the end of the sleeve were three stripes – red, green and purple – and the child looked to be about seven months old. “Who– ” The next photo was the same kid, different outfit, only this time he was awake and Castiel was holding him. “Is– ” The next photo was the kid alone, sitting on the floor, looking up. “Dean, who's the kid?” He flipped through the rest of the photos – all of them the same kid. The last one was both Dean and the kid, asleep, the boy resting against his brother, both of them the perfect picture of contentment. “Dean?” 

“That's Liam.” There was an odd tone in Dean's voice, one Sam couldn't quite place. This was something new; he'd not heard this from his brother before. 

“Uh, Dean... you and Cas... I mean...” Sam was rapidly putting two and two together. “Holy shit, Dean.”

“That's about what I was thinking when I found out myself, Sammy.” Sam could place the tone then. It was pride. 

“Wow – ” Sam swallowed. “This – is this why Cas won't be back?”

“Something like that, yeah, Sammy.” Dean sighed and held his hand out for his phone and Sam put it back. “Things just got a little more complicated, that's all.”

“Complicated has always been the norm with you two.” Sam folded his arms and returned his gaze to the window. “So I mean, what are the two of you going to do?”

“It's rather dangerous for Cas to bring Liam to Earth.” He shrugged. “So we'll just do the best we can.” He shook his head. “Oh, another thing. Already told Bobby this – apparently before all the angels got called back to Heaven, there was a major demon smack-down. Cleaned out half of the upper echelons of Hell. They haven't found Meg yet, but they got Crowley.”

“Shit.” Sam turned from the window. “Guess that explains why things have been kind of quiet.”

“I don't think it will last, but hey, few less things to worry about.” Dean snorted. “Lousy bastard Crowley. Thank god Cas found that coin the scumbag put in the Impala. Who knows what the fucker could have found out from that.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Sam remembered when the angel had found the tracking coin tucked carefully under the Impala's rear bumper. They'd burned the thing shortly thereafter. “So I guess I'm an uncle then.”

“Something like that.” Dean smiled. “You want to stop at that diner in Sioux City for lunch?”

Sam thought for a moment. “You mean the one that serves like, the platter of onion rings that's enough for three people?”

“Yup.” Dean grinned. “Come on, Sammy, it's not like you can't brush your teeth before we get to Blue Springs.”

In response, Sam laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had known Cas would be away for a while. He'd accepted it, and while they did get to talk – and sometimes more than talk – in dreams, it wasn't the same. Unfortunately, 'a while' turned out to be a lot longer than he thought it would be. When the new year started, changes came and they came rapidly. After much discussion and some debate, Sam began the slow transition from hunter to civilian. Getting a clean slate wasn't exactly an easy thing for the Winchesters, but with the Apocalypse avoided and with most monsters running to ground, they'd be foolish to try and not take advantage. Dean tried not to begrudge his brother in his happiness, but it was hard sometimes. Sam had been able to secure a job in Kansas City, working for some company that Dean wasn't even sure what they did. All he knew was that it was some kind of financial or computer place and Sam's job was to work in some kind of tech support. That was almost laughable, considering his only foray into such work had been courtesy of Zachariah when he'd plunked the Winchester brothers into the middle of the Sandover Corporation almost two years ago. Dean and Bobby had even managed to repair one of the wrecks in the salvage yard to a decent state – some late model sedan that was probably new nine or ten years ago. With Sam's move and repairs to the car, plus a few of what Dean called 'milk hunts' that never got any more complicated than a salt-and-burn, he was absolutely stunned one morning when he checked his phone for messages and saw that it was already August. 

Dean yawned and rubbed his eyes as he looked around the motel room. He was in the middle of nowhere in Oregon on a case that turned out to be just a bunch of vampire wannabes that ended up getting attacked by an _actual_ vampire. The vamp had been out on his own so killing him shouldn't have been a problem. The trouble came from the fact that he had already converted three kids into vampires as well. That had been up in Washington. He swore he'd send hate mail to Stephenie Meyer if he thought he could get away with it. Almost immediately after finishing the hunt, he'd driven as far as he could to get away from the ashy ruin he'd left in his wake before exhaustion got the better of him. He wasn't sure if he was going to head back to South Dakota to see Bobby or find a new case, but continuing putting plenty of distance between him and the state of Washington sounded good. “I'm getting too old for this,” he muttered as he stood up and methodically started packing. It'd been years since he'd hunted solo for more than a handful of weeks. Not since Sam was at Stanford. In all his thoughts on what he'd actually do if he ever settled down to a normal life, Dean had never thought about what he'd do for a living. Somehow, he always figured the job would just sort of present itself, the way the family, the picket fence and apple pie always did. “Might just go see Sam before going to Bobby's,” he murmured to himself as he shouldered his bag and headed out to the Impala. 

*

In the measuring of human time, Liam was exactly one year and one month old. In Heaven's terms, he'd turned five. Castiel knew that now that he was older, it was safer to take him out of the protection of their home, but it still wasn't without some reservations. The last time Dean had seen their son he'd been an infant. He'd been crawling and making babbling noises. Now he was walking, talking and soon, he'd be off eating, although for now he drank nectar from cups instead of bottles. The patch of hair on Liam's head finally settled on a color – black – and as it got longer, it had turned curly. Early schooling for angels consisted mainly of being able to communicate, of matching countries and languages together. While angels were naturally omni-lingual, knowing what went where was something that had to be learned. 

Liam would probably be leaving the nest permanently this time next year and then Castiel would return to his own duties in Heaven, whatever those might be. While his son was in his classes, Castiel helped out several angels with the multitude of prayers, requests for help and all the other paperwork of Heaven. At the end of the 'day' both father and son returned to their nest to sleep. Since Liam had figured out that the other parental figure in their family was missing, he usually asked his papa to tell him about his other father – or his dad, as he always called Dean. Telling stories about Dean was never a problem for Castiel, the trouble was finding ones suitable for the child to hear. One of Liam's favorites was how Dad and Uncle Sam defeated the pagan, Hold Nickar on the Winter Solstice before his parents met. But when Liam returned 'home' this evening, Castiel could plainly see that stories weren't on his mind tonight.

“What's wrong?” 

Liam curled up, hugging his knees, frowning. “It's not fair.” 

Castiel tilted his head to the side, mirroring the look on the boy's face. “What's not fair?”

“That angels have to work in Heaven and humans don't.” He stuck out his bottom lip. “Just not fair.”

Castiel moved to sit next to his child and put an arm around his shoulders. “It is fair, Liam. I know it may not seem like it, but when human souls arrive here, they are weary and worn. Life on Earth is vastly different than what we experience here. There will come a time when you no longer need to rest, when you will exist the way other angels do, as light and energy. You have seen the others, I know you have.”

“Yeah, but...”

“On Earth, humans must sleep. They never overcome needing rest. We live in what some might call a perfect world, Liam. No angel goes hungry, no angel grows weary. There is no weakness, no pain, no sorrow. Humans live that day in and day out.”

“It sounds like humans are made to suffer.” Liam frowned. “Still...”

“Humans toil upon the earth, for they must work for what they need, be it food or shelter. All we need is provided. Humans do not have such a luxury. So when human souls arrive here, they will find no more sorrow, no more tears, no more suffering. That is their reward. Their lives are far shorter than ours.”

Liam huffed. “It's still not fair.”

Castiel knew he wasn't going to make any progress with this conversation, at least, not tonight. “There is much in this universe that is unfair, my child.” He gave him a small hug. “I tell you what, in a few days, we'll go on a little field trip.”

“Field trip?” Liam frowned. “You mean like the time we went and saw Grandpa in his Heaven and Dad was just a three year old?”

“Sort of.” Castiel smiled and ruffled his son's hair. “I can tell you one thing that is rather fair.”

“What's that?” 

“Both fledglings and human children have the same kind of school week: just five days long.” He kissed the boy's forehead. “Let's get some rest.”

*

Dean sat in the waiting room of the hospital, palms pressed against his eyes, silently praying for a miracle, not really caring what angel was on the receiving end of the prayer. Just that someone, anyone, would hear. He'd gotten back to Sioux Falls last night, let himself into Bobby's house, rather surprised that the old hunter was asleep at nine-thirty in the evening and found the man he'd come to think of as a father lying on the floor of his library. The good news, the medical team told him, was that when Dean got there, Bobby hadn't been out all that long, maybe just a few minutes, but still, those minutes were stretching out, and what Dean really wanted was a miracle or for Sam to hurry his ass up here. He'd called his brother and told him to get up to South Dakota as soon as possible. That had been three hours ago, and Kansas City was at least a six hour drive. He slid a hand through his hair and stood up as a doctor approached him.

“Dean Winchester?”

“Yes?” He could tell by the look on his face, the news wasn't good. Bland faces were never good news.

“We were able to repair some of the damage to your uncle's heart, but...” he let out a shallow breath. “...the surgery proved to be too much for him.”

Dean blinked at the man, partially confused. “Wait... wait... you're saying...”

“I'm sorry,” the doctor said, rather uncomfortably. 

“It's...” He made a waving motion at the man, just wanting to be alone. “I'll just...”

“I'm sorry,” the man said again before leaving Dean alone. 

Dean sank back down into his chair, already feeling the sting of tears at the corner of his eyes. He lowered his head and fought back the urge to start sobbing. This couldn't be happening, not now, not when things suddenly seemed to be going so well. If he hadn't taken so long getting back, if he'd taken a different route... He gave over to his tears and hoped that Sam got here fast. He really, really didn't want to be alone right now.

**

An average of one hundred and eight people die every minute of every day. The total processing of a soul in Heaven is exactly three minutes; from identification, to placement, to one last memory wipe done to prevent souls from poking about in places that they shouldn't. The angels working in what was widely referred to as the Placement Office, two to five per country, could finish their days with relative ease. The fact that all human souls under the age of eighteen did not require placement in a personal Heaven made things a little easier as well. When disasters struck the Earth and the average deaths per minute shot up, other workers were called in to help assist the department. Castiel could well remember the last time he'd assisted in the office, the day of the Normandy Invasion. Of course, unlike natural disasters, the angels had been expecting the catastrophic death toll and had gotten additional help before the souls started to arrive. So when he was summoned to the office after a massive earthquake ripped through China, he just gave Liam a hug before leaving and headed out. 

Liam wasn't used to being left alone. In addition to the natural disaster, there was also a major influx of souls coming in from a war-torn area, so classes had been canceled while the majority of the angels of his papa's rank went to help the souls, leaving him and most of the other fledglings to their own devices. “This is boring.” Without Papa or something to occupy him, staying here at home was rather dull. He calmly climbed out of the nest, knowing that his papa could track him anywhere, and set out for one of the six libraries of Heaven. Two of the libraries were reserved strictly for angels. Liam had only been in one of them; it was full of folios and journals, some things that were written by human prophets and others by angels. His destination, however, was the Children's Library, tucked away in a far corner. It was one of the few places where angels interacted with souls almost constantly; humans under the age of twelve and over the age of five came to this part of Heaven. Liam hadn't ventured very far outside of the library, but he'd seen the playground, the wading pool and of course, fields and places to run around.

Even though all the children were in this place, its size somehow made it seem like only perhaps a hundred or so were there. He still hadn't been able to work up the courage to ask his papa where the babies went – maybe they were reborn into new lives, having died so young. It was hard to understand. 

Liam pushed the blue-glass door open carefully, not wanting to risk hitting someone, and looked into the library. He grinned and stepped into the room. Things were pretty quiet here, even though there'd probably be an influx of newcomers shortly. He ducked around an overlarge chair and headed for the stairs. 

“Oh, hello, Liam,” a voice from behind him called.

He turned to see the librarian-angel who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Hello, Sister Ella, ”

“Haven't seen you in a while.” She came up the stairs and sat down and Liam sat next to her. “No school today, huh?”

“No. Something bad happened on Earth. Someplace called China.”

The angel nodded in understanding. “Off on another adventure here, then?”

“Guess so.” He shrugged. “I can stay and talk, if you want me to.”

“Oh, you're sweet.” She ruffled his hair. “I was going to get some crafts together for when the new children arrive. Would you like to help me?”

“Okay.” He stood up and then took the other angel's hand as they descended the stairs. “Do I have to hide my wings?”

Ella laughed. “No, you don't. You know souls can't see us as we are unless we want them to.”

“True.” He followed her past the low shelves of picture books until they came to a sunny, open room that was full of low tables and chairs, just the right height for a child. Sure enough, there were already four souls busily coloring away on paper. Liam knew where the artwork usually ended up, on the massive walls in the hallways connecting the Heavens. He and his papa used to take walks in those halls because they were rarely traveled and gave him plenty of room to practice walking and flying. 

“Here we are.” Ella wheeled out a cart that had several tubs on them. “Can you put one of these on each of the tables?”

“Of course.” Liam picked up the first one, saw that the contents were boxes of crayons, boasting of two hundred colors each, some packages of markers and colored pencils, both containing one hundred and ten colors each. He started with the far table and worked his way back. There were already stacks of thick drawing paper sitting on the tables. He was on the fifth tub when he realized something; technically, he was working. He'd had a talk about this with his papa just a little while ago and here he was, doing what all angels did in Heaven. Sighing, he went back for the sixth tub.

The disaster on Earth had delayed the trip Papa had been talking about, but he'd promised it would be soon – Liam just figured that would have to be close in angel terms, not human ones. It was on the eighth tub that he saw something out of the corner of his eye. After setting the tub down, he went towards where he thought he'd seen it. He rounded the corner of a row of picture books that had won some kind of award called a Building Block, and looked down into the face of a very sad looking human girl. “Hello.”

The girl frowned for a moment, blinking at him. She had hair that was even blacker than Liam's, although hers was very straight. “Hello,” she finally replied.

It took Liam a moment to realize that the girl wasn't speaking Mandarin or Cantonese, she was speaking Greek. He shrugged that notion off. “Are you okay?” He crouched down so they could look each other in the face.

“I want my mama.” She pursed her lips. “Mama said the operation was gonna make me all better.”

“Operation?” Liam tilted his head to the side, frowning. “Were you sick?”

“I have cancer.” She paused, as if suddenly realizing something, and she reached up and touched the side of her head, brushing her fingers through her hair. “I don't...” Her face crumpled up. “I don't have cancer anymore, do I?”

Liam shook his head. “No. What's your name?”

“Esther.” She sniffled. “What's yours?”

“Liam.” 

Esther rubbed her nose. “I still want my mama.” She sniffled again. “Would you give me a hug?”

“A hug?” Liam was confused. The only souls he hugged were his grandparents. “Why?”

“Sometimes you just need a hug.” She suddenly looked embarrassed. “I just...”

Liam shuffled closer to her and put his arms around her shoulders, giving her a light squeeze. “Sorry, I don't give many hugs.”

The girl returned the hug. “It's okay. Thanks.” She stood up, pulling Liam with her. Now that they were standing, the girl was actually a little taller than him. “Did you have cancer too?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Esther looked over the shelves to the tables. “What's in those tubs you were helping that lady put out?”

“Crayons and other sorts of coloring materials. Although if you want paint, you have to go and ask Sister Ella. She's in charge of the art room here.” Liam rubbed his nose. “Why?” 

The girl looked over again. “Can anyone go over there and color?”

“That's why it's there. If you want to take a look around instead, that's fine too.”

Esther folded her arms, going from upset and curious to rather, well, if Liam didn't know better, he would have thought she was pouting. “Is that lady an angel?” She nodded at Ella.

“That's Sister Ella. ” Liam rocked back and forth on his feet. “And yes, she's an angel. She's really nice.”

Esther nodded and then grabbed Liam's arm, pulling him around the shelves. “Let's go color.” 

This was something new for him. He wasn't used to being pulled, or ordered, around. “I don't think I should.” He felt rather foolish. This was stuff for the human souls to do, not angels. 

Ella must have caught sight of the pair because she called out “It's okay, Liam. I see you've made a friend.” 

Liam could have laughed – he'd heard that human souls adjusted to Heaven with relative ease, but this was almost funny. He watched as Esther pulled out a box of the crayons and set it between the two of them and then put a sheet of paper in front of each of them. “I've never colored before.”

“Ever?” The girl frowned. “Well, that's no fun.” She opened the box and pulled out a purple-shaded crayon. “It's kind of nice here. You said there was more to this place than just the art room, right?” 

“Yes, there is.” He stared down at the blank sheet of paper, at an absolute loss what to draw.

“Would you show me around sometime? I bet you know where everything is.” The girl beamed at him.

“I... I could try...” He carefully selected a beige crayon. “I'm not here all that often.”

“You don't like books? I love books!” She grinned at him. “Or – wait, you can read, right?”

“Yes, I like books and yes, I can read. I just live somewhere else in Heaven.” He shrugged.

Esther set her crayon down, suddenly looking serious again. “Are you an angel too?”

Liam nodded and went back to his drawing. 

“How'd you get to be an angel?” She nudged him, taking his attention away from his picture. “I wanna be an angel.”

“You have to be born an angel to be one.” Liam bit at his thumb, thinking. 

“I still wanna be one.” Esther pouted slightly and her shoulders slumped. “I think it'd be nice.”

“You get to stay here and have fun. I have to go to school.” 

“Angels go to school?” 

“Yes.” Liam went back to his drawing. “School was canceled today. There was an earthquake in China and all the teachers had to go and help with... helping people get settled.” He frowned and switched colors.

“Wow.” Esther picked her crayon back up. “You'll still be my friend though, right?”

“Of course I'll be your friend, Esther.” Liam grinned and they went back to coloring.

*

Castiel made his way up the stairs of the Children's Library, exhausted from a long day. The whole rest thing was still bothering him, but he would have this condition until Liam left their nest. Most of the children seemed to be outside; several of the angels who worked here were organizing some kind of sporting game. He went into the large reading room on the second floor and found Liam dozing in a large overstuffed chair, the book on his lap was about ready to fall on the ground. He slowly removed the book, glancing once at its title _The National Parks of America_ before closing it and setting it on the table next to the chair. He then gently picked up his boy and settled him against his shoulder. “All worn out too, are you?” He walked down the stairs and was almost at the door that would take them to the corridors when he heard running feet.

“Wait!” a voice called out and when Castiel turned, he saw a dark haired girl racing towards him, clutching a piece of paper. 

“Yes?” He frowned down at the girl who held the sheet out to him.

“This is Liam's. I don't want him to forget it!” 

Castiel took the paper and looked at it. The drawing depicted what he guessed was himself, Liam and John and Mary Winchester standing on clouds – while on another part of the drawing were two more figures, who must be Sam and Dean. “Thank you...” He looked at the girl again, reading her name from her mind. “Esther.”

“You're welcome.” She rocked back on her feet. “Tell Liam I said bye and I hope he comes back for a visit sometime soon.”

“He'll try,” Castiel replied and left the library, heading back for their home in Heaven.

**

Dean felt like he was intruding as he sat behind Bobby's desk, staring at his brother, who was sitting on the couch, staring at a half drunk cup of coffee. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He kept waiting for Bobby to come into the room and tell him to get the hell out of his chair, but he wouldn't. Not now. This house, its contents and the contents of the salvage yard had been left to both brothers in Bobby's will. Dean would rather have Bobby back. “What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

Sam picked up his mug and took a sip of coffee. “I don't know. I mean – I didn't think – I thought he had...”

“I know, Sam.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “I didn't think it'd be this soon either.”

“You want me to move back?” Sam set his mug down. “I don't think that it would be too hard for me to find a job up here.”

“No Sam. You've gotten out, almost completely out. It's better if you stay in Kansas City.”

“You talk to Cas?” 

Dean shook his head. “Not gotten any replies. But you've watched the news, Apocalypse may have been averted, but I think the planet's still releasing tension.”

“Yeah.” Sam stood up and went to refill his coffee mug. “It's insane. Last week everything was fine, now it's just...” He came back into the room, leaning against the door frame. “So I'm guessing you're going to be staying here from now on.”

“Looks that way.” Dean took a sip from his own coffee mug. “It's going to be a little weird at first, being here without Bobby. I don't even know what all's out in that yard.”

“You'd probably have a better idea than I would. There could be a couple of classic cars out there just an engine overhaul and a paint job away from restoration.”

“Sam, you're actually right about that. I think there's about seven that just need about three parts each and a paint job and they'd be good as new.”

“Bobby never got around to finishing them?” Sam was surprised. “That doesn't make sense.”

“That's because most of the needed parts cost a few grand and well, you add it all up, to fix those seven cars would cost around fifty thousand dollars and time. It took me two months to put the Impala back together. Not to mention that I think Bobby had other priorities to take care of rather than those cars.”

“Point.” Sam sighed. “Fifty grand.” He let out a low whistle. “It'd take me two years to earn that, and that's before taxes.”

Dean set his mug down, finally remembering what else had happened last week – grief and loss had pushed it out of his mind until just now. “Actually, we sort of do have that kind of cash.” He looked up at Sam, almost risking a smile. “I feel awful saying this, but we didn't just inherit this place and its contents from Bobby.”

“Life insurance policy?” He set his mug down, leaning forward. “Or is it more than that?”

“Yeah. To both.” Dean ran his hand through his hair, reliving the shock from last week. “Despite the fact that Bobby had a Dell, he put his money on the competitor. Not a lot, but some.”

“Holy shit, Dean.” Sam stood up. “Are you _fucking_ serious?”

“Hell yes, I'm serious!” Dean shook his head. “No wonder he thought iPhones were the best things on the market.”

“I don't believe this.” His brother sank back down into his chair. “I take it you haven't told anyone else about this?”

“Just you, little brother.” Dean took a drink from his coffee mug.

“Well, I'm not letting that kind of information get out, that's for damn sure.” Sam picked his coffee mug back up. “Guess I don't need to ask what you're going to be doing.”

“Still would rather have Bobby.” 

“No argument there.” The two of them raised their mugs in silent tribute and drank to their lost father-figure. “I think I need something stronger.”

“Johnny, Jim, Jack or Jose?” Dean asked, setting his mug down and rising. The two of them looked at each other for a moment and then said in once voice – 

_“Jack.”_

**

The next few weeks passed with little incident. Sam went back to Kansas City and went back to work. Dean stayed in Sioux Falls and slowly started putting things back together. With the way things were in the world right now, a lot of people were trying to find ways to fix cars themselves rather than pay a small fortune to have it repaired professionally. While one would think on the outset that would be a problem, the truth was, there was no shortage of parts to be found, from small things like side-view mirrors and door handles, to larger things, like hoods and even a few engine parts. Dean hadn't gone cold turkey from hunting. It wasn't just the salvage yard he'd inherited – he'd gotten all of Bobby's hunter jobs as well: research and alias provider. It gave Dean a newfound appreciation of the man – and a good serving of guilt at all the times he'd taken the man's hard work for granted. He wasn't sure if Sam or Bobby would understand the way he had the books organized nowadays. Despite the fact that he tended to act like a total slob, Dean actually hated things to be out of order. Granted, it took him an entire week to just get all the books _sorted_ into stacks he could handle. The only thing Dean seemed to be hunting actively at the moment were dust bunnies and oddly, he didn't seem to have that much of a problem with it. 

The only real trouble Dean had was now he really felt alone. He came into the house every day and it was empty, except for him. He'd always needed someone there, it always gave him some kind of security when he was growing up. He might have practically raised Sam, but at the same time, his brother had unknowingly provided what Dean had needed; the knowledge that he _wasn't_ alone, that he still had family. And wasn't that just pathetic? Big, bad monster killing, demon-exorcising and people saving Dean Winchester needed someone else's presence just so he wouldn't know how alone he really was. “Shit,” Dean snapped and shook his head to clear it as he went back to sorting the contents of Bobby's attic. He'd hauled the entire lot down to the now book-free dining room and was trying to make sense of half of the stuff, most of which hadn't seen the light of day since Karen Singer was alive. “This is how hoarders get started, ” he mumbled to himself as he opened another box and found a collection of slightly-dusty red dishes. A _lot_ of red dishes. “What the hell...” He pulled out a bowl and turned it over in his hands. He frowned; he'd seen this style of dishes before – not this color, but this style. He set the bowl down and took a few more things out, stopping when he reached a small sized plate and then he remembered: Mom had had dishes like this. They weren't red - Mom's had been an off-white color. They'd belonged to her mother originally. Once he got the entire contents of the box emptied, Dean saw that there weren't just plates, bowls and cups – he was looking at a full set of whatever this stuff was called. “Wonder why he kept these in the attic.” He inspected one large plate, looking for any sort of problem, and couldn't find one. 

“Dean?” A voice called from the other room and he nearly dropped the plate. 

“Cas?” He turned from the room and started for where he'd heard the angel, in the library. 

Castiel frowned, noting the absence of Bobby Singer, and as he set Liam, who was sleeping, down on the couch, he knew. The hunter was no longer on Earth, but in Heaven. He stepped into the hallway and almost ran straight into Dean. “I am – ” He was cut off as the man hugged him for all he was worth and pressed his lips against his. The angel didn't push him away and he didn't question the hunter's actions. He merely returned the embrace and the kiss, knowing that Dean needed this now, more than words, more than anything. It had been too long – even by his understanding of time – it had been far, far too long since they were able to be together. Nearly six whole months – and it felt like six years. He should have expected something like this. It wasn't just the six month separation; it was also the six weeks of imposed silence between them that came up when things in Heaven became chaotic, owing to a certain archangel named Raphael attempting to overthrow his big brother. He'd not been expelled, as Lucifer had been, but things were starting to break up in the ranks. Michael had given Castiel and several other angels permission to leave, but only for a short while. For the next fortnight, he could be here with Dean. 

Dean reluctantly broke the kiss, but not the embrace. He didn't say anything as Castiel set a hand on the back of his head, holding him against his shoulder. He didn't want to let go, he didn't think he ever could. “You're here.” His voice sounded worn, with an edge that made him involuntarily wince. _I'm not gonna cry, I'm not gonna cry.._

Castiel stroked the back of his head, letting out a gentle breath. “Yes.” He squeezed the man tighter and kissed his temple. “I'm here.”

*

Even though Cas had explained the aging of angels to him, Dean still found it a bit of a shock how _much_ Liam had grown in six months. Seeing him go from an infant to a little kid was very unsettling. Or maybe it wasn't that so much as the fact that said child was currently staring at him from his seat at the kitchen table, watching him drink a cup of coffee. It was beyond weird to see his shade of eyes giving him a very Castiel-like gaze. Then there was the underlying fact that Dean had no freakin' idea how to talk to his son. The last time it'd been kind of easy, as Liam had been too young to really give him any kind of response other than a laugh or a smile. Now, now he was faced with a walking, talking...

Liam blinked at Dean, confused. “Why do you drink that stuff?” He knew humans ate and drank. He'd seen them do it in Heaven, but this was different. This was drinking for actual sustenance, like he did.

Dean set the mug down. “Because...” He frowned, thinking of a decent answer. “Because I've been doing it since I was twelve and it's just... it's a habit.”

“No, that's not what I meant.” He tilted his head to the side, frowning. “It doesn't have any nutritional value. Isn't that the purpose of eating and drinking?”

“Uh...” Dean was at a total loss. He was being outsmarted by a six year old. Thankfully, Castiel supplied an answer.

“He drinks it because it helps him wake up, Liam.” The angel slid into the chair next to the boy.

“Why don't all humans drink it then?”

“It's an acquired taste,” Dean said, frowning into the nearly empty mug. “Just like the people in China who eat deep fried bugs. You ask me, that's nasty.”

“But they eat bugs because....” 

“Liam,” Castiel said in a voice that Dean recognized as the angel's 'you're being difficult' tone. 

He folded his arms and looked down. “It still doesn't change anything.”

Dean set his now empty mug down and regarded the boy. “I drink coffee because I like to drink it. Same as those people in China like to eat bugs.”

The boy looked from one parent to the other. “I guess that makes sense, kind of like the people in India eat lamb because they think cows are sacred.”

“Exactly,” Castiel supplied. “Again, I am sorry I didn't inform you we were arriving.” 

“It's okay, Cas. I wasn't busy and no one's needed me to run the phones for them in weeks. It's crazy. It's like all the monsters went into hiding or something.”

“Most demons have fled back to Hell for now. I imagine there's a power struggle going on now that will not breach the surface of the Earth for many years.”

“Now there's a comforting thought.” Dean shook his head. “Demonic civil war.”

“They're _always_ at war,” Liam offered. “Demons are _always_ fighting each other.”

“Liam,” Dean said in the tone he used to use when Sam was the kid's age. “You're way too young to know what goes on in Hell and I am way too sober to be having this conversation either way.”

“Dean is correct, Liam. This is not a suitable subject,” Castiel said flatly.

“Well, what else are we going to talk about?” He frowned. “I don't know what to talk about.”

Dean got up and refilled his mug with the last of the pot and turned it off before coming back to the table. “What else do you do in school, besides learn about demons and whatnot?”

“Languages.” He tugged at his bottom lip. “I'm still having trouble telling all the Latin Spanish apart...” 

Castiel nodded. “This is a difficulty for many angels, actually. It is not like Portuguese.”

“You two want anything?” Dean asked. “Water, or something?”

“No thank you, Dean,” Castiel replied. “Liam?”

The child gave his father a look of shock. “I can _drink_ something down here?”

“Not a lot of things, Liam, but some.” Castiel gave Dean another smile. “Do you have any milk in the house, Dean?”

“Sure.” He stood up and went to the fridge. “There's a difference in all the Spanish?”

“Yes. Just as the way you speak English and the way the British speak English.”

“Suppose that makes sense.” He got out the carton of milk and poured a glassful before returning to the table. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” Liam replied and then picked up the glass, sniffing its contents. “Smells like clover.” He took a sip and smiled. “It's good.”

Dean decided to just accept the smelling thing as another angelic eccentricity and went back to his coffee. “Anything he's not supposed to have?”

“Pork,” Castiel said. “It's complicated and the other two meat products would never appear in your kitchen, so I am not worried. Unless camel has become a staple of American cuisine.”

He stared at the angel. “I don't think so.” He was trying not to gag at the idea. 

“No juice either,” the angel continued. “Or any sort of fruit that grows on vines or trees.”

Dean had to think for a moment. “So just berries then?”

“Yes.” The angel relaxed in his seat as Liam set his empty glass on the table. “It is not so much a rule, but at his age that must be taken into consideration.”

“I can understand that.” Dean poked at his mug. “I wasn't allowed to drink coffee until I was fourteen. Before that, I was sneaking drinks of the stuff.”

Castiel didn't go into the litany that was on the tip of his tongue to go into, telling Dean about how certain foods could affect an angel of Liam's age and so forth, he just merely nodded and settled back into his seat. So it wasn't entirely idyllic, but this was good. He had to give the man some credit for taking all of this in stride. He knew that some of the others were venturing out so that their fledglings could meet their mortal parents. At least Dean had the benefit of knowing about the supernatural. It made things a little easier.

*

The fridge was now covered in artwork, with another stack of drawings waiting to find a place to be hung up. Dean had made one trip into town to get some food and other supplies and had picked up crayons and a package of printer paper, and after it was presented to Liam, the delighted fledgling promptly went to town creating artwork. Dean had it on his next shopping list to find something to affix the drawings to the walls with. The lack of visitors meant he wouldn't have to explain the rapidly approaching five-hundred child-made masterpieces. He was glad, however, he'd gotten two boxes of crayons. He chuckled to himself as he calmly stacked today's art into a neat pile and cleaned up the kitchen. Castiel was upstairs, giving the boy a bath. Liam had been introduced to the playground today and had gotten a fine coating of grime and dirt on himself to show for it. It was so charming, so wonderfully domestic, Dean had no idea how he was going to handle things once the pair went back to Heaven. At the rate it was going, the next time he saw Liam, the boy would be a teenager. 

“Dean,” Castiel's voice came quietly from the doorway.

“What is it Cas?”

“I have to return to Heaven for a few hours. Some sort of emergency.” Castiel frowned, looking more perturbed than worried. “I did not think I would need to return for another two weeks.”

Dean dried his hands off with a towel. “Few hours?”

“Yes. You and Liam should be fine. The house is strongly warded against danger.”

Dean was taken aback. “You mean – he's gonna...”

Castiel walked over to him. “You are more than capable of taking care of him, Dean. It is nearly his bedtime. I will be back soon.”

“But I – ” He was cut off as the angel vanished. “You really need to work on your exits.” He set the towel down and made his way upstairs, where Liam was pulling on a pair of sleep pants and a shirt. 

“Papa said he had to go back home for a little while,” Liam said, rubbing his nose. “Baths are weird.”

“Weird how?” Dean leaned against the threshold, slightly amused.

“Not used to being all wet.” He sighed and sat down on the bed. “Papa said I need to know about human things... and baths are how humans get clean, right?”

“Or they take showers.” He shrugged in response. “Think it depends on where you are.”

Liam rested his head on his hands. “The wind sounds funny.”

“Funny how?” Dean came into the room and sat down next to his son.

“Just sounds... wrong.” 

Dean listened for a moment, thinking. “It's going to rain. Even though it was sunny and hot today, sometimes all the moisture in the air builds up when it cools down at night and rains.”

“Still sounds funny.” He rubbed his eyes. “Not sleepy.”

Dean chuckled. “That won't work on me, kiddo. Heard that line enough from your Uncle Sammy when we were growing up.”

Liam yawned. “Story?”

“Huh?” He frowned in response. “Story?”

“Uh huh. Papa always tells me a story before I go to sleep.” He yawned again and lay down. 

Dean covered the boy with a thin blanket. “Don't know too many stories off the top of my head. What kinds of stories do you usually have?”

Liam yawned again. “Papa tells me lots of stuff. He told me about his journey to Bethlehem and meeting some shepherds and some other places he's been. And he tells me stories about you and Uncle Sammy.”

Dean blinked once at that. “Uh...” He searched his mind for something that was 'appropriate' to tell the boy before settling on the story about him and Sam and the time they tried to bake cookies in the microwave – with surprising results. 

*

Dean came downstairs to the library and flipped on the news like he had every night for the past several weeks. True, there was never anything good happening anymore, it was all war in the Middle East and floods in the States. It was more to have noise than anything as television was rapidly proving to be a decent enough distraction for him these days. He'd not been downstairs five minutes when the first tell-tale sounds of thunder rumbled across the sky. “Please sleep through it... please sleep through it...” he muttered under his breath as he went back to cleaning up the kitchen. Rain started to lash against the house, causing him to pause. “Going to be one heck of a storm.” He leaned back into the library to glance at the television to see the storm watch alert that always seemed to be in the bottom of the screen during the summer. He was surprised at its absence and a moment later the meteorologist was on, showing a massive storm that seemed to be nothing but a huge blur of red rimmed in dark pink: severe, head for the basement, don't go outside whatever you do weather. 

_“We're advising everyone in southern Minnehaha and northern Turner County to take shelter immediately This includes all of Sioux Falls. This storm has already produced two tornadoes and baseball sized...”_

Dean didn't wait to hear the rest. He ran up the stairs to where Liam was whimpering in his sleep and scooped the child up in his arms, thin blanket and all and hurried back down, heading for the basement. “Damn it,” he cursed softly just as the lights started flickering and the rain suddenly seemed to increase tenfold.

“Huh?” Liam was slowly coming awake as the two of them reached the basement and Dean threw back the door of the panic room, judging it to be the strongest and safest place. “What's going on?”

“It's okay.” Dean set the boy down on the cot and grabbed the radio off the table and started fiddling with the dials when a new sound replaced the rain. A heavier, ugly sound.

Liam instinctively grabbed his dad around the waist. “What – what's that noise?”

“Storm.” Dean put his arm around Liam and set the radio down. “That heavy sound is hail.” 

“The National Weather service has issued a tornado warning for Turner and Minnehaha Counties. A funnel cloud was reported on the ground near Tea, heading northeast at forty miles per hour.” 

Dean frowned, judging the distance from that spit in the dirt town to be about thirty miles away. “Gonna get ugly here in a few minutes -”

“Dad...” Liam hugged his father tighter. “I don't like this!” 

Not even pausing, Dean pulled Liam into his lap and hugged him close. “Nothing to be scared of. We're safe in here. The worst of the storm probably won't even come near us.”

The fledgling buried his face in Dean's neck, clutching his shirt. “You don't know that!”

Dean started to rub the boy's back, feeling at a loss. “We're going to be just fine, Liam. No need to be scared.”

“I want Papa!” Liam started to wail almost at the exact same time the tornado siren a few miles away did. Dean wouldn't have heard it at all if the radio hadn't told him the sirens were going off. The overhead lights flickered once and then went out, casting them into darkness. _That_ only made the boy cry harder. A moment later, Dean was struck in the face as Liam's wings ripped out of his back, his fear overriding his ability to keep them hidden. 

“Ssh...” He carried the boy awkwardly across the room, grabbed one of the flashlights from the cabinet and flipped it on. “There we go... one problem handled.” He nudged Liam, who'd managed to get his wings partially folded, but was still sobbing inconsolably. “Hey now – can you hold this for me?” He offered the flashlight to the boy, doing his best to ignore the throbbing pain spreading along the side of his face.

Sniffling, Liam took the lamp, clutching it tightly in one hand. The other was grasped around the collar of Dean's shirt so tightly, Dean was fairly certain he'd rip it before too long. “Scared.”

“Now that's okay. Just don't shine the light in my eyes, okay?” Dean made his way back to the cot against the far wall, skirting around the devil's trap where rain was piling up in the buckets on the floor. “We're perfectly safe in here.”

“Don't like it.” Liam sniffled, grimacing at his inability to get one of his wings situated. “Need help...”

“Not supposed to like it.” Dean saw the boy wasn't going to be letting go of him anytime soon, but used one hand to fold the downy wing the way the boy was trying to get it, silently congratulating himself over the fact he'd not freaked out over seeing said wings. “That better?”

“Yes.” He frowned. “I don't know how you do it.”

“Do what?” Dean heard the woman on the radio calmly talking about the storm's direction; it wasn't coming straight at them – they were located on that nasty side of the storm that just brought heavy rains, straight line winds and, of course, hail. The last report said it was baseball sized, making Dean _really_ thankful that the Impala was in a garage and not out in the open.

“Live with all these dangers.” Liam slackened his grip on the flashlight a little. “Why is Earth so dangerous?”

“Life's dangerous, Liam.” Dean sighed and closed his eyes. “As first tornado warnings go, you're doing pretty good. First one I was in, I spent it under an overpass on the highway.”

Liam looked up at him, his face in disbelief. “Grandpa had you and Uncle Sam _outside_ during one of these?”

“Yeah, it was in...” Dean paused. “Wait, you've met my dad?”

Liam nodded. “Uh huh. He's kind of...” He bit at his thumb, searching for the right word. “I don't know how to describe him, exactly.”

This was a little overwhelming for Dean. “Who else have you been meeting up there in Heaven?”

“I met Gran. I like her. She comes and watches me when Papa has to work and I'm done with school.” He let out a yawn. “I also go see some of the kids in Heaven. Esther taught me how to play tag.”

“Esther huh?” Dean let out a yawn of his own and adjusted Liam's blanket. “She nice?”

“Uh huh. She also taught me how to color.” His grip on the light slackened further and it fell to the mattress. “I worry though – cause I'm getting older and she's always gonna be seven...”

Dean let the boy carry on, talking about other people he'd met up in Heaven, other angels, other humans. The fear was starting to leave his voice, and as the hail faded away to nothing but hard rain, Liam drifted off, back to sleep. A few minutes later, still holding onto his son, he too fell asleep.

*

The tornado that had sent Dean and Liam to the basement passed six miles west of the salvage yard. The damage to the house wasn't severe, but it was enough for Dean to realize that replacing the roof and windows were more of an immediate need, rather than a goal for next year. Sam had called the day after the tornado, all sorts of concerned, but Dean had reassured him that everything was just fine. Some of the already wrecked cars were now worthless for anything more than scrap, but it didn't seem to matter, as the number of hail-damaged cars in town that hadn't been total wrecks was starting to grow. There was almost no tornado damage in Sioux Falls itself, other than the hail and some uprooted trees. He decided that what really sucked about the whole thing was, the work was taking away his time to spend with Cas and Liam. They would be leaving for Heaven in six days – and all he wanted to do was not answer the phone and focus solely on the two of them. 

Castiel, for his part, had been putting off the news for as long as he could - the fact that this visit could very well be the last one they were ever able to make was not something he could easily tell the man. There were a lot of things he needed to tell the man, almost none of it good. He still hadn't told him about how fledglings forgot their parents, although he did know that parents did not forget their young. He couldn't assure him that it would be fine, that Liam would be fine, that somehow, everything would work out, because it sounded exactly like what it was. Bullshit. All he wanted to do was wrap both of them – the most special people in his life close to him and never, never let go. For now, all he could really do was rub Dean's back as the man snored softly in his slumber. The only other sound was the even drone of the fan across the room and the faint rustle of wind. The fact that he had only slept two hours before waking was a clear sign to him that things were rapidly changing. Groaning softly, he pressed his forehead between the man's shoulders, enjoying the skin-on-skin contact. 

“Cas?” Dean muttered. “Something wrong?”

“No.” He hugged the man a little tighter. “Just enjoying this, that's all.”

He smiled and kissed the side of Castiel's arm. “I like it too.”

The angel sighed. “Dean...”

“Yeah?”

“I - I don't know when I'll be able to come see you again after this visit.”

Dean pulled away and turned over to look at Cas. “You said the same thing last December.”

“I know I did. But this time I am more certain that the length of time will be greater than six months – it may be six more months or six years.”

“Six years?” Dean's voice cracked on 'years.' “Are – You're serious about that, aren't you?”

“Yes.” The angel brushed Dean's face with his thumb. “I wish I could assure you that it would only be six months, but things have been rapidly changing in Heaven.”

“Rewrite of the Plan, all that?”

“Something like that, yes.” Castiel leaned over and kissed his forehead. “But I promise you that I will try and come back. I just don't know if Liam will be with me or not.”

Dean closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “Kids grow up, Cas. You know that.”

“I do.” Castiel pressed his forehead against Dean's. “I know that all too well.”

“I was thinking Cas, about something Liam told me.”

“What?” He moved a little closer, not wanting to break contact for a moment.

“He told me about his friend. I think her name is Esther?”

“Yes. What about her?”

“It's not about her directly, but he mentioned how he's growing up - and she'll always be seven. You're always going to look the age you are right now. You might be aging, but it doesn't show. I'm getting older.”

“That does not matter to me, Dean.” He pressed another kiss to the man's forehead. “I have told you that does not matter.”

“It – it just feels weird. Say you come back in six months; I won't have changed much. Six years, I'll probably be a little grayer and may be sporting a few wrinkles.” He opened his eyes, staring into Cas' face. “But what if it's not for _sixteen_ years?”

Castiel pulled Dean against him. “That won't matter to me, Dean. How many times must I tell you this?”

Dean let out a muffled sigh as the angel hugged him tightly. “Sorry, my little human brain has trouble processing things.”

“Always with the sarcasm,” the angel huffed. “Don't ever change that – I fully expect you to always have a comeback. Even when you're ninety.”

“If I even live that long.” Dean curled up against him. “When I was twenty I never thought I'd live to be thirty. Now that I've passed thirty, I think I'd at least like to see sixty.”

Castiel rubbed his back, smiling. “If that's the case, you may want to cut down on the amount of cholesterol in your diet.”

Dean snorted. “Cas, are you being serious or trying to be funny?”

“I am -” He gave the man a playful shove. “And you're still impossible.”

“Cas, it's too hot for that.” He rolled over onto his back, yawning. “Well, maybe...”

Castiel let out a low chuckle as he set a hand on Dean's thigh. “Perhaps I should persuade you.”

“I don't think that will be too hard,” Dean said, leaning over to press his lips against Cas'.

*

Castiel couldn't bring himself to tell Dean about how Liam would forget who they were. In truth, he wasn't entirely sure that Liam _would_ forget who they were, owing to him being half human. So much was left unknown in all of this. The oldest of the new fledglings borne of the failed Apocalypse was just a few weeks older than Liam and she wasn't as close as he was to being ready to leave the nest. He turned over in the bed, frowning when he realized that Dean was no longer in it. He sat up and reached for his shirt, which was lying on the floor. He could hear laughter coming from downstairs as he dressed and he smiled. He was glad that even if Liam _did_ forget them, he and Dean would have these moments remember. Somehow, that made things seem almost all right. He finished dressing and made his way downstairs. Dean was in the kitchen making breakfast and Liam was sitting on the couch, laughing at the television. “What are you watching?” 

“The man in the suit is funny,” Liam said between giggles. “He thinks he's a prophet and that he's been to Heaven!” He doubled over, laughing.

“Dean, what is Liam watching?”

Dean leaned in from the kitchen. “That'd be the Evangelical Hour out of Des Moines. Every week their great preacher gets on television and makes a total ass – I mean fool – of himself. God may not be on my list of favorite people, but I'm willing to bet good money he wouldn't want me believing some nut in a two thousand dollar suit. Liam only started watching it because the choir was singing when we flipped to that station and he wanted to listen to that.”

Liam had fallen on the floor he was laughing so hard. “You can't buy your way into Heaven!”

Castiel looked from one to the other and then stole a glance to the television where the man was screaming at his congregation to give money. “People believe this man? How can they not see he is a criminal and is using the money for himself?”

“Cas, ” Dean gave him a look, “Newsflash, a lot of us humans are total morons. After this show gets off the air, there's a Scientology program. They're twice as crazy as this guy is. I mean, they're waiting for _aliens_ to come back.”

Liam was hugging himself to control his mirth. “The streets aren't paved in gold either, silly man!”

“You let him watch this?” Castiel's voice was half amused, half accusatory.

Dean gave him a look and went back into the kitchen. “There's no kids stations with the cable package that Bobby had. I didn't think you wanted him watching the Discovery Channel.”

The angel shook his head and sat down at the kitchen table, watching Liam laugh. “He does seem to find humor in it.”

“Cas, even I find this guy funny.” Dean opened the cupboard and pulled out the flour. “So, are you going to join us in blueberry pancakes this morning or are you just going to watch us eat?”

The angel smiled faintly. “I think I will have a pancake or two.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sam knew that when Dean showed up for the annual Independence Day picnic that something had drastically changed in his brother. It was more than when he'd learned of Liam. Sam still hated the fact that he hadn't been able to get up to Sioux Falls to meet the boy, but he kept telling himself that there'd be a next time. Christmas, perhaps – or maybe Thanksgiving. He had, however, called Dean to let him know that he and Gina were getting married in December. It wasn't going to be a major affair, as Gina didn't want a big fancy wedding and also understood that when it came to guests, the Winchester side of the family would be almost nonexistent. He also didn't think it would be too hard to convince Dean to come down for the wedding. His brother _loved_ the Keys. After Sam explained that Dean was terrified of flying, not to mention that it was kind of a stretch of both of their budgets to fly to Hawaii, Gina had settled on the location for a sunset beach wedding for six in Key West. 

“So are you going to spill about what's wrong with you, or do I have to play twenty questions?” Sam said, setting a mug down in front of his brother.

“Nothin' is wrong, Sammy,” Dean said, picking up the offered cup of coffee.

“That's bullshit, Dean. You barely ate dinner last night and you've hardly talked since you got here.” Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I thought we had this sort of conversation a few years ago.”

“I don't want to talk about it.” He stared absently into his mug, as if he was looking for answers inside it.

“Dean, I know something is bothering you.” Sam braced himself for the expected outburst that usually happened when he pushed like this.

“You wouldn't understand,” Dean sighed.

“Well it doesn't mean I can't listen.” He sat down at the table as well, wrapping his hands around his mug. Truth was, Sam had a feeling what was going on with Dean. His relationship with Cas redefined the meaning of 'long distance relationship' and it was crazy that he hadn't noticed sooner when his brother stopped noticing the attention members of the opposite and - some of the same sex - gave him. Hell, he wagered not even Lisa Braeden could get through to his brother at this point, and odds were, Lisa ranked near the top of the list of people Dean would want to spend time with. “You're almost back to how you were this time last year.”

Dean took a drink from his mug. “I know Sam. I haven't hunted anything in months. I don't - it's just starting to get to me, you know? All of it. Bobby, Cas, you, all of it.”

Sam let out a deep breath. “So what it really boils down to is the fact that you hate being alone up there in Sioux Falls.”

He nodded in response and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Pathetic, I know.”

“No, it isn't pathetic.” Sam frowned slightly. “I don't know, maybe you need to get out some. I know you say you're done with the whole bar scene, but there's bound to be -”

“Bound to be what, Sam? A club or something? Most guys my age are taking their kids to little league and crap. I'm just...” He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. 

Sam frowned and looked down into his own mug. Unlike him, Dean had always thrived on being around family. He himself was the opposite - he'd spent so much time trying to get away “I don't know what to tell you Dean.”

“Maybe just being out of the house for a while will help.” Dean shrugged and downed the rest of his coffee. “I've been thinking of driving up to New York and cleaning out that storage locker of dad's before someone else breaks into it or it goes up for sale as an abandoned locker.”

“You don't think dad had a catalog of what all is in there, do you?” Sam frowned, thinking. “I mean, for all we know, he's got a hand of glory in there.”

Dean snorted. “If Dad had a hand of glory, he'd have kept the damn thing with him and not in a hex box. Not to mention that Bela would have picked that up along with the rabbit's foot.”

“Point. Maybe I could come with you for that.” Sam slowly grinned. “Sort of like an extended bachelor party.”

Dean grinned. “Sammy, I sometimes wonder if Gina has any idea what she's getting into with you.”

“Ha ha,” Sam replied and went to refill their mugs.

**

When the entire Host was summoned, Castiel wagered that to an outside observer, it would have to be an impressive sight. No, to anyone, human or angel, it _was_ an impressive sight. When the order came for all angels to come to the heart of Heaven, Castiel wasn't sure if it was good news or bad. The last time he had been summoned to an assembly such as this, it was the day they laid siege to Hell. The Garden had somehow swelled in size to fit all of the angels, and at the center of the garden stood Michael and Raphael. The elder was the picture of controlled anger and the younger was full of undisguised rage. Normally, Castiel would be in the ranks of the warriors, but all angels with young stood with the cherubs, who surrounded them and their fledglings like guards. It was undoubtedly the only time a cherub could ever look fierce in Castiel's opinion. Liam squeezed his father's hand tightly, not quite understanding what was going on, but knowing better than to ask. 

“I tell you Michael, what you have done is break with the plan.” Raphael spat. “You were to fight Lucifer and bring peace.”

“Peace?” Michael said the word as if he'd never heard it before. “You speak of enslaving mankind, Raphael. We were told to love mankind, not conquer it.”

“They are unworthy of love!” Raphael bellowed and several garrisons raised their voices in agreement, a loud roar that seemed to shake the ground. 

“They are our Father's creations, Raphael. Flawed they may be, but that is how they were made.” Michael's eyes were narrowing. 

Castiel had seen this argument before, so many years before, when he was only a few years older than Liam. Only then, the angel that stood in Raphael's place was Lucifer. He squeezed his son's hand a little tighter, trying to reassure him. 

“Father is never coming back, Michael. He no longer cares what happens to us or what we do!” 

Shouts erupted from the ranks, a cacophony of words that seemed to fill all the empty space until Castiel couldn't make out what any one angel was saying. He felt Liam grab hold of his waist and hug him for all he was worth. Looking around at the other nesting angels, he could see the fear on their faces and on the faces of the fledglings. The cherubs, for their part, were also yelling, but judging from their body language, it looked as if they were trying to calm everyone down. Over the din, he could vaguely make out Raphael screaming at Michael, calling him a failure.

 _“ENOUGH!!!”_ a voice bellowed from the far side of the garden. Ranks broke to let the speaker through and shouts gave way to whispers. Castiel was close enough to the front of the assembly to make out the man whom the angels were letting through to the center of the garden, but it didn't seem right. 

It was the prophet Charles, or Chuck, as he preferred to be called. But he shouldn't be here, he couldn't be dead. Even if he was, what would he be doing in the Garden? Castiel shot a look at the two archangels and received a second shock - they clearly saw something more than a mere man. 

“There has been enough fighting.” This Chuck didn't sound like the one Castiel knew. He sounded far more authoritative, and unless he was mistaken, he sounded a little disappointed. 

A rumble of disagreement sounded from throughout the ranks, although very few remarks came from Gabriel's Legion. Castiel felt a tug on his arm and he looked down. “What?” He whispered.

“What's happening?” Liam looked about as worried as Castiel felt.

“I don't know.” He put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder as Chuck circled the two archangels, his expression pained.

“Really, I expected better of you two.” He stopped and stared at the younger. “Particularly you, Raphael. I gave you the simple task of trying to get Gabriel to come home, and you never went and talked to him _once_. I told you centuries ago to go and get your brother. If you and Michael hadn't been so busy bickering, your baby brother might be alive!”

Castiel was starting to put things together. So were several of the other angels. Confusion was giving way to shock. He squeezed Liam's hand a little tighter, rather stunned at what he believed was happening. 

“But... the...” Raphael was actually _spluttering._ If the situation hadn't been so serious, Castiel might have laughed.

“It is done with. We will discuss this later.” Chuck let out a deep breath. “Michael.” The elder archangel took a step back, his head down. The prophet offered a small squeeze on the angel's shoulder and then turned to the rest of them. “The fighting stops here, my children. If you cannot learn to live with one another, despite how you may think things should be, then you best be prepared to change your ways. We are a family and it is time we started _acting_ like one.”

*

Castiel wasn't sure how he felt about the newest development. The prophet known as Chuck Shirley was in fact, their Father. It was just too much to process, too much to handle. He could remember now, the hand that the man had placed on his shoulder and then, so hesitatingly, had withdrawn. But looking back, he did remember something else from that moment. In the corner of his mind he had heard Jimmy Novak's panicked voice suddenly slip away. Not silenced by him, but it was as if his soul had been released from the body they were sharing, leaving Castiel alone. It made sense now. All of it made sense. There hadn't been a prophet in centuries and those there had been hadn't exactly gotten clear messages, thus accounting for some religions gone awry. Chuck wasn't even sending a message; he'd been using the Winchester's lives to write the newest gospels. That didn't exactly fit into how things had always been done. God had gone into hiding, disguising himself as his own prophet. The plan was so utterly brilliant that he could almost laugh. Only the memory of the war's toll kept him from doing so.

Most of the angels were now subdued. Shaken by the revelation of the past, the call for cessation of the quarrels, and the price that was paid left the Host humbled and many feeling contrite. Castiel included, for he knew that his crime of rebellion and killing of his brethren would have to be accounted for. The only comfort he could take was that he knew that Liam wouldn't suffer any form of retribution. In truth, Liam was a direct result of Castiel's rebellion, but that was another matter entirely. With the others like his son also in Heaven, coupled with the fact that they weren't abandoned as the first Nephilim had been, they were progressing well and showed no signs of the madness that struck the others of their kind. 

“Papa?” Liam had a feeling that something was bothering his father, something more than the incident in the Garden earlier. 

“Yes?” Castiel gave the boy a worn smile. 

“Why are you so worried?” Liam bit at his thumb, trying to hide his nervousness. “Is something bad gonna happen?”

Castiel felt his shoulders slump and he pulled the boy into a one armed hug. “No, Liam. Nothing bad is going to happen. We are going to be just fine.”

“I know you're worried about something. You've got that look on your face.” 

The angel smoothed down his son's unruly dark curls, smiling. “It's nothing you need to be concerned about, Liam.” He gave him another hug. “You need your rest.”

The fledgling sighed and went to the other side of the nest, pulling a blanket around him. “Don't you need to sleep too, papa?”

“I do not grow weary as often as I used to, my child.” Castiel heard the hitch in his own voice. 

“Oh.” Liam curled up and let himself get tucked into the side of the nest. “Is it true I'll have to leave soon?”

“Yes.” He ruffled the hair he had just smoothed down. “It's part of growing up.”

“Is that why we don't see your parents, Papa?”

Castiel stilled his hand on Liam's head. “Something like that, yes.” He couldn't bring himself to tell the boy he had no idea who his parents were. They could be almost anyone in the Host. “Don't worry about such things now, it is time for you to rest.”

“Okay.” Liam replied in a voice that was so reminiscent of Dean, Castiel almost choked on a sob. “Papa?” Liam said in a sleepy voice. “May I ask you something else?”

 _There goes the infamous Winchester Curiosity Gene again Castiel told himself before replying,_ “Yes?”

“Is it bad that I wish Dad could live here with us?” He turned over and looked up at his father. “I miss him.”

“I miss him too, Liam. I don't think it's bad, entirely. However, you must remember what would have to happen in order for him to be here.”

“I know.” He turned over, pulling the blanket over his head. “Still doesn't mean I can't wish he could. Nice if he could visit.” This last was punctuated by a yawn. “Wanna meet Uncle Sammy too.” 

A few moments later, Castiel heard the boy snoring softly. He leaned out of the nest and picked up one of the scrolls he was supposed to finish reviewing before tomorrow. As he unfurled it he paused and then looked up, his heart clenching.

Liam had not asked for his usual bedtime story and Castiel also realized he hadn't thought to tell him one.

**

September arrived in South Dakota with another batch of severe weather, although thankfully, no tornadoes. Things were improving, for the most part. Dean had done as Sam had suggested and tried to find something to do with other people, to get his mind off of things that were beyond his control. The best he could come up with was joining a bowling league. He wasn't the best player on the team, in truth, he usually had the lowest of the four guys, but he kept his score consistent, a steady one-ninety, and he kept raising his score each game. When he and Sam had gone and cleaned out dad's storage locker, they'd found a lot more than they originally thought was in there. In addition to the weapons (Dean still had no idea what he was going to do with the land mines), the brothers had also found Sam's high school diploma, Dean's GED certificate (Sam hadn't known his brother's score was just one hundred and twenty-five points short of perfect) and then there was the hex box that didn't contain a cursed object, but rather photographs. Pictures of John and Dean, John and Sam, John and Adam, and baby pictures of all three boys, photos of their mom, of Kate Milligan and at the very bottom of the stack were photographs of people the brothers didn't know. The first one was of John and two young men that looked similar to their dad. The date scrawled on the back was _September 19, 1968_ and John, along with the two men, were all wearing blue jeans and t-shirts, arms folded and were leaning against a dusty red tow truck. Their arms and faces were dirt streaked, but they were all smiling proudly. Hanging on said tow-truck was a wrecked car Dean recognized as a Ford Thunderbird. The second photograph held another one of the smiling men - along with a woman and a group of four kids. It was the writing on the back that solved the mystery. _Greg and Alice Winchester Kids: Alex (8), Michelle (6), Colleen (4) and Peter (16 months)._ The third photograph had been of a Keith Winchester and his wife Lydia and their three kids Jennifer, Moria and Sean.

The knowledge that they had family out somewhere; uncles, aunts, cousins - gave Dean something else to do in addition to helping hunters and fixing cars. Finding said lost relatives. Although, when the brothers thought on it, they were the real lost family members. After doing just a little digging, Dean learned that his cousins Alex and Jennifer were the same age as he was and that Colleen was the same age as Sam. The three Winchester brothers, John, Keith and Gregory were all close in age; eighteen months separated John from Keith and _fourteen_ months separated Keith from Gregory. Dean had a vague memory of a big house with polished floors and banisters _perfect_ for sliding down that he was certain wasn't in Lawrence, but someplace close to there. In one of those moments best described as serendipitous, on the morning of September nineteenth, the phone rang at the Singer Salvage Yard. 

Dean was half awake when he stumbled across the library, having consumed no coffee – and was also thoroughly pissed to be pulled from sleep and from the very nice dream he was having about him, Cas and Liam taking a trip to the South Dakota State Fair. “Hello?” Dean mumbled, thankful it wasn't one of the hunting-related phones.

“Hello.” A nervous sounding woman answered him. “Is this -Singer Salvage?”

“Yes, how may I help you?” Dean made his way into the kitchen and started making coffee. 

“I'm looking for either Sam or Dean Winchester.” Her voice sounded a little more certain. “I got this number from a Missouri Mosley in Lawrence.”

“Who is this?” Dean cut her off, all business. 

“Oh, oh, I'm sorry. My name is Moria Winchester. My father's name is -”

“Keith,” Dean said, willing the coffee pot to work faster. “How can I help you?”

“Is this Dean?”

“Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don't mean to be rude, but what time do you think it is?”

“Um...” There was a pause. “Seven thirty - oh shit, did I wake you up?”

“Yeah, yeah you did.” Dean decided, that if this was indeed his cousin, he'd let her off easy this one time. “You talked to Missouri then?”

“Yes, er, look -I know how this must sound, cousin calling up another cousin she's never met.”

“I've heard a lot of crazy shit over the years, Moria.” Dean let out a breath when the coffee was finally done and he could pour himself a cup. “Why exactly, are you calling?”

“It's, well, this is going to sound weird, but my dad's been wanting to get in contact with you guys for quite a while. He hasn't seen or heard from Uncle John in almost fifteen years.”

“You've met my dad?” This was surprising news to Dean. Dad had done his best to cut off all ties to the past when he started hunting Azazel. It was to protect everyone, according to John. “When?”

“I was almost seven, Uncle John came by for dad's fortieth birthday.”

Dean took a long swallow of coffee before answering. “Huh.” Apparently whenever dad took this trip, he'd left him and Sammy somewhere else. Odds were that John had done it for a very good reason at the time, but now, after the fact, it sort of pissed him off. “Any particular reason you went to Missouri to find us?”

“Dad was running out of options. I don't suppose Uncle John's there, is he? My dad really wants to talk to his brother.” 

Dean let out a deep breath. “Damn it.” 

“What?”

“I -” He swallowed. “I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but, Sam and I - our dad died. Almost six years ago.” _And you would not believe the crazy shit that has gone down since then._

“Oh.” Moria's voice sounded odd. “Oh... oh... no wonder...”

“Missouri hint at something regarding that?”

“Sort of.” She coughed. “She's kind of weird.”

“You don't even know the half of it.” Dean took another drink of coffee. “Where are you, anyway?”

“Atchison.” Moria sniffled on her end of the line. “Look, I know you've got no real reason to believe I'm who I say I am and all that, I just - things are just too weird, okay?”

“Weird how?”

“Families aren't supposed to stop talking to one another. They aren't supposed to disappear, you know?”

“Yeah.” Dean took a drink from his mug. “I know.”

**

Change came and change came quickly to the ranks of Heaven. Gabriel's Legion still had not been assigned a new leader, but was given a temporary one, an angel by the name of Jeremiah, whom Castiel had always admired, mainly because of Jeremiah’s fortitude in putting up with the likes of Uriel and Zachariah for centuries on end. It wasn't any great shock to Castiel, however, when he and twelve other angels were all summoned to a remote corner of Heaven. He didn't recognize all of the assembled, but Raphael was among them. The room he'd been instructed to wait in was a short, narrow room with chairs and a door opposite the exit. None of the angels, Castiel included, seemed happy about being there. Raphael had the darkest expression on his face when the lesser angel arrived. If the archangel was worried, then this could not be a good thing. One by one, each of the angels present went into the room beyond, each time telling another to go in, until at last, only Castiel was left. None of the angels who had gone in spoke of what had happened, so he wasn't entirely sure what to expect.

When he went into the room, he found Chuck – Father – sitting at a large desk, a stack of files on one side of him and an empty basket on the other corner. One file folder remained and it was sitting front and center. Castiel slid uncomfortably into the chair, waiting. 

Chuck let out a deep sigh and then looked up, folding his hands over the documents he'd been studying. “Hello, Castiel.”

“Hello.” He wasn't sure what to call the man sitting across from him. 

Chuck was completely unaffected by the angel's discomfort. “How is Liam?”

“He is well.” Castiel shifted in his seat. He was the only one of the thirteen angels who was a parent of one of the new fledglings, so this couldn't be about that. 

“Do you know why I summoned you here, Castiel?” Chuck's voice turned serious.

“No,” was his honest reply.

“Things have not been easy for you. As much as it pained me to call you here, I realized that in the eyes of the others, I cannot allow certain... events to be overlooked.” He looked back down to the folder. “The disobedience is not what has landed you here, Castiel. Were it not for your disobedience, we would be sorting billions of human souls. However, there are those among the ranks who see this crime as unforgivable.” He looked up. “I won't ask you to explain your actions, because I already know why you did what you did.” 

“I do not...”

“The matter is finished. We cannot change what has transpired. It pained me to do so, but things have unfolded as I saw they should. I believe mankind should be allowed to get further along than they have. What do you think?”

Castiel frowned. “Of mankind?”

“Yes.” Chuck smiled faintly. “What do you think of mankind - as a whole?”

“They are unhappy.” Castiel had observed this emotion more than any other while on Earth. “So they spend their lives trying to find ways to become happy or make others happy. While I do question some of their methods, I do not feel qualified to make judgments on mankind.”

“Very good, Castiel.” Chuck sat back in his chair. “Do you believe mankind can improve?”

“I know they can improve. Although I do believe they also have a very long way to go yet.”

“So true.” Chuck's expression became stern. “Do you regret killing your brothers?”

Castiel hadn't been expecting that question. “I do. I wish it could have been otherwise.”

“Honesty.” The man on the other side of the desk smiled, albeit faintly. “A quality I made sure all of you angels had. Unfortunately, much like humans, honesty had been mistaken for truth. After all, history is written by the winners, is it not?”

“Yes, sir.” Castiel figured that 'sir' was probably the safest name to use for Chuck.

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose. “Getting back to the reason you're here.” He let out another breath. “I debated over this for some time and finally realized that there's no way of getting around this. Like the others who were just here, you too have to face a punishment for the crimes many accuse you of. What has happened may have been my will, but justice, Castiel, must apply to everyone. Do you understand?”

The angel sat up straighter. “I am to be punished so that war does not break out in Heaven.”

“Very good, Castiel.” His smile became somewhat warm. “You always were the swiftest to catch on in your garrison.” He stood up and started to pace. “When was the last time you spoke with Dean Winchester?”

“Two nights ago.” Castiel answered promptly. 

“Do you know what month is it is on Earth?” He paused in front of the room's one window, looking down and smiling at something. 

“Approaching the end of November, Dean spoke of going to Atchison for Thanksgiving.” Castiel was starting to grow concerned. 

“Do you have any plans to go and see him anytime soon?” 

“I do not know when that will again be possible, sir. Now that Liam is getting older, it is harder to find time to leave.”

“I want you to go back to your nest after we finish here, Castiel. I want you and your child to pick a time to travel to Earth before the end of January. You will be granted two weeks – and two weeks only. This will be your _last_ visit to see Dean Winchester.” Chuck came back from the window and sat down. 

“Last?” Castiel felt cold. “You mean...”

“Upon your return to Heaven, you will be forbidden from seeing Dean in any form, on Earth or in dreams until he returns to Heaven for the last time.” He folded his hands, his face grave. “Do you feel Liam is old enough to leave the nest?”

“I...” Castiel knew he could not lie to his Father. “Nearly old enough.” This was rapidly becoming worse and worse. He was to lose Dean _and_ Liam in one fell swoop? 

“Good.” Chuck studied something in the folder for a moment. “You will also be reassigned to the clerk pool. You have worked there in the past, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” This Castiel could handle. Working in the clerk pool of Heaven meant he would be assigned prayers. It was dull, tedious and it also meant isolation. Prayer clerks stayed in rooms for decades on end, sorting through folders and folios. If you were lucky, you were assigned a group of living souls and just had to review their prayers for the course of their lifetimes. The worst job you could be given would be to sort through old prayers from souls already passed. Even their prayers were still sometimes answered. Such as the countless prayers of mothers who watched their children die of smallpox, who kept asking Heaven for a cure. 

“There are those who would say I am letting you off lightly – so there is to be an amendment to your punishment. You shall have to face time as humans do. A minute is a minute, an hour an hour.”

“I understand.” Castiel swallowed hard. All of this combined made for one very nasty punishment, although it was vastly better than Heaven's idea of torture. He'd been there before and had no desire to ever return. “May I ask one question?”

“Of course, my child.” 

Castiel clenched his hands into fists, trying to keep himself from showing any emotion on his face. “May I know how long it is to be until Dean Winchester returns to Heaven?”

Chuck shook his head. “No. I will only tell you that it is more than fifteen years and less than sixty.”

“Understood.” _Fifty-nine years._ Castiel thought absently, counting the maximum number of years automatically. _It could be as many as fifty nine years – that would make Dean nearly one hundred years of age._ “Is there anything more?”

“No Castiel. It pains me to have to do this to you, my child. But I cannot punish nine defiant angels and let the other four escape unscathed.”

“Yes, sir.” He could and he would endure this. He wasn't worried for himself, he was worried for Dean and for Liam.

“Do you feel your punishment is too harsh, Castiel?” Chuck's voice took on that authoritative tone again.

“No, sir.” He'd be a fool to argue this. This punishment was relatively light, compared to what it could have been. He could have been denied the chance to say good-bye to the two most important people in his life. 

“Off you go then.” Chuck closed the folder and set it on the stack with the others. 

“Thank you.” Castiel said before rising and heading for the door. When he returned to his home, he found that Liam had still not returned from classes. He curled up, wrapping his wings around himself, resting his head on his knees and he did not know if he was relieved or dismayed in the fact that angels could not cry. For if he could, Castiel knew he would be weeping. 

**

“So this is the home of the famous Aunt Jet.” Sam said, slamming shut the passenger door of the Impala and picking up the crock-pot full of four-cheese pasta they'd brought.

“Yup.” Dean leaned against the car, grinning. “Technically, it's Great-Aunt Jet, but somehow, I don't think it matters to her.” He looked up at the Victorian-style house. “Hard to believe that the last time I was here for a holiday I was three.”

Sam chuckled. “I don't think they'll make you sit at the kids table anymore, Dean.” He looked back over at his brother. “You do realize I'm going to have to bring Gina here sometime next month so they can meet her, right?”

“She's your fiancé, Sam.” Dean came around the car and they started up the steps to the front door. “I've only talked to these people on the phone. They still think dad was crazy, with the monsters and all. As far as they know, I restore vintage cars and you help people figure out the problem with the printer is that it needs paper.”

Sam snorted. “Gina says she's had customers at work take the printer apart thinking it's the copier.”

“That I can sort of believe,” Dean said as they got to the porch. “By the way, remind me to send a thank you card to Rufus for telling us about the pasta trick.”

“You mean boiling the stuff in holy water?” Sam chuckled. “I'd love to know how he discovered that little trick.”

“Apparently, it's an old trick courtesy of Italian hunters,” Dean said as he rang the bell. “Looks like we're among the first to get here.” He peered in through the ornate glass in the door, although it was hard to make anything out and the massive evergreen wreath on the door didn't help either. “Someone's coming.”

There was a fleeting image of a face and then the door was opened. The woman was of medium height, with silver hair pulled back into a bun. Her eyes were the same shade of hazel as Sam's and she was dressed in dark pressed jeans and a lavender blouse. “Well, now here's two boys I never thought I'd see again!” The woman smiled broadly and opened the door wider. “Come on in here and let me get a good look at you two.” Dean and Sam exchanged glances before following her. “Harry, get in here, John's boys have finally come back after all these years!”

An older gentleman came into the hallway from what Dean guessed was the kitchen, wiping his hand on a towel. “Good God, that can't be Dean, his hair's too short.” He came over and looked the two brothers over as Aunt Jet took the crock-pot from Sam. “And Sam -” He looked the younger Winchester over. “Damn. And here I thought Peter was tall.” 

*  
The topic of John Winchester's obsession with monsters never came up during dinner was something for which both brothers were exceedingly grateful. Sam figured someone, most likely Aunt Jet, who clearly was the matriarch of the Winchester clan, despite the fact that her surname was Worcester, must have said something. Neither he nor Dean were sure if they could bring up the subject of their late half-brother, Adam. He was just as much a part of this family as they were and had been excluded from this circle of love just as much as they had been. Dad had always told his boys that he was a mechanic from a family of mechanics. That was _mostly_ true. Uncle Greg was in upper-level management at the Ford plant in Kansas City and Uncle Keith ran what had once been Winchester Towing and was now Winchester Tow and Snow Removal. All of their cousins had attended college and were working in various jobs across the country thus the reason not all of the family was in attendance. Sam just knew that when the subject of Christmas came up, he'd have to decline any invitations, as he was spending that holiday with Gina's family. He had a feeling that Dean would be persuaded to come down for the event. This newfound family they'd been blessed with, it was a good thing. 

One whole wall in Aunt Jet's house was covered in photographs. It took Sam a moment or two, but his eyes finally came to rest on an old photograph in a silver frame, judging from the quality. Mom, dad, Dean, and himself, looking to be just out of the scrunched-up newborn stage. Also on the wall were two framed works of calligraphy. He ran his finger along the one with more names on it. At the top, was _Dean Joseph Winchester – January 24, 1979_ and at the bottom, _Peter Andrew Winchester – August 18, 1990._ Sam frowned, looking at the space left on the bottom. “Hey Dean...”

“Yeah?” Dean came away from the conversation he'd only been half listening to between Sean and his dad about the KU football game.

“There's enough space on here for Adam.” He tapped the glass.

Dean picked the frame up off the wall, his eyes downcast. “Yeah.” He turned to the group. “Hey, Uncle Keith?” _Boy does saying that sound weird._

“Yeah?” He turned towards them.

“Who did the writing on this?” Dean held out the frame.

“That'd be Aunt Jet. Why?”

“Cause someone's missing.” Sam replied and then picked up the other frame, which wasn't as full. “And someone's missing from this one too.”

Dean caught onto what his brother was doing. “Sam, don't.” 

“Oh?” Keith took the two frames and looked from one brother to the other. “Who's that?”

Sam held out the first frame. “Adam Jacob Milligan – his birthday was September twenty-ninth, nineteen ninety.” 

“And who's missing from this one?” Keith had the same look his elder brother did when he wanted answers. It had to be those intense brown eyes, more than anything.

Dean was going to get his brother for this. Now he'd have to do some more explaining. “Liam Gabriel Winchester. His birthday is July fourth, two thousand ten.” He indicated the second frame. “He doesn't live with me though.”

Keith's eyes suddenly turned sympathetic. “I'm sorry to hear that. I imagine he's a very handsome boy.” He turned back to Sam. “Where's Adam?”

“He uh – he - ” Sam tried to quickly think of a plausible reason for Adam's death without insulting his memory when Dean cut in.

“It was unexpected.” Dean let out a deep breath. “We barely knew him, but...”

“He should still get his name listed, right?” Sam knew this probably sounded pathetic and chick-flicky, as Dean would say.

“Right you are.” The man smiled. “Sean, would you go get your aunt in here? And tell her to bring her calligraphy pen.”

“Sure dad,” Sean replied and turned towards the kitchen.

*

The time of the Winter Solstice tended to bring an influx of monster related activities. The event seemed to be an open invitation for the entire supernatural world to just go nuts. But not this year, this year, it was quiet. On a vast snowy field in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, a man stood looking down towards the woods where a century and a half ago, Federal troops looked down upon the advancing Confederates in an event that history would call Pickett's Charge. At the man's side stood a second man, almost the exact same height, but of sturdier build. Both of them wore heavy wool coats, their hands stuffed in their pockets watching the approach of two other figures. One, a woman in a dark blue coat and the other, a tall man with a tattoo adorning his face, the edge of it just visible under a knit cap. The man let out a breath as the woman finally reached the crest of the hill, looking placid. 

“I will admit, disguising yourself as a drunken writer was quite clever,” the woman smiled. “Chuck.”

“Eve,” Chuck replied, nodding slightly. “I take it you've thought things over.”

“I have.” She smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I will admit, it would be wonderful just to gather my children home and not have to worry for them any longer.” She sighed, turning her gaze from him and looking out over the landscape. “The demons will never stand for this, you know that.”

“We shall handle the demons.” The man next to Chuck answered, “One or a hundred at a time, we can stand against them.” 

“Michael.” Eve turned and looked directly at the archangel. “Still full of bravado, after all this time.” She smiled. “I've always liked angels. So perfect and yet – so imperfect because of that perfection.” She turned back to Chuck. “I take it the pagans will be left to themselves.”

“Haven't they always preferred it that way? Besides, they get to experience the joy of being reinvented again and again in fiction. That Riordan fellow is quite the genius.”

“Kindly Ones.” Eve threw back her head and laughed. “How utterly funny that was!” It took a moment for her to recover from her mirth. “I believe I can agree to the terms you have suggested. Although I do not plan on telling those I release from Purgatory that they may not create more of their kind. That is purely up to them.”

“Of course.” Chuck replied. “I do look forward to the day when the wall that stands between my home and yours will no longer be necessary and you and your children can come home too.”

“I know,” Eve replied with a smile. “But such is the way of things.” She smiled faintly. “I shall call my children home by the end of the year. I take it hunters will still be taking care of the vengeful spirits.”

“Yes,” Michael answered and he inclined his head to the much elder being. “Eve.”

The woman smiled one last time and turned. The jinn at her side nodded at the pair and followed her back into the darkness, their feet leaving no impression upon the snow. 

**

The dreamscape was always the same when Dean knew a visit from Castiel would happen soon. They were always back on those two benches in a park, watching children run around and play. Tonight it was no different. Dean was glad he always found himself on his bench first, smiling whenever he felt the angel approach. “I suppose a Merry Christmas is in order, given what day it is here on Earth.” 

Castiel smiled faintly. “Merry Christmas Dean.” He sat down on his own bench, hating the fact that they could never sit next to each other. “You are not spending the holiday alone, are you?”

“No, somehow my great aunt convinced me to come down to Atchison again. I think she's either trying to make up for lost time, or is glad there's one kid in the family who doesn't have to divide their time. Well, so to speak.”

“I understand Dean.” Castiel sighed and leaned back in his seat. “It will still be two weeks before Liam and I come and see you again.” 

“It's been six months. I can wait two more weeks, Cas.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” The conversation that's coming is one Castiel has been expecting for a year now.

“Why does Liam have to stay in Heaven all the time? I hate to sound like a selfish bastard, but I'm missing too much. It's a really rotten way to feel.” Dean looked over at the angel. “Why can't he – ”

“It is a highly complicated thing, Dean. Much as I would love for Liam and I to visit you with regularity or even for just our boy to come and see you for the summer, it's dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?”

“Do you remember what happened to the first Nephilim?” 

“They went crazy or something... and they were all killed.... well, supposedly all of them were killed.”

“No one has proved if one pregnant woman escaped or not. The answer to that will have to remain a mystery.” Castiel took a breath. “Part of the reason the Nephilim turned out the way they did was because they were denied Heaven. A lot of what makes an angel an angel happens before they hit puberty. The Nephilim had too much power and no idea how to channel it.”

“So, Liam won't hit puberty for a few more years, right?”

“Puberty can strike an angel at any time once they no longer require nectar for sustenance. Liam barely needs it now. An angel going through puberty is akin to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius when it buried Pompeii.” 

“That sounds scary Cas.”

“Scary is an understatement. I know that both he and I dearly wish we could come and see you more often, but with the way angels age and the nature of our being, even something simple could prove to be damaging to you.”

“Like what happened to Pamela,” Dean said flatly, looking away.

“I did warn her.” Castiel knew that even now, that sounded like a terrible excuse. Although in truth, most angels _wouldn't_ have warned a prying human. 

“Cas, I've told you not to worry about me.” 

“Liam is more like you than you know. If he were to injure you, even accidentally, he'd never forgive himself. I know he still feels bad over the incident last summer.”

“Last summer?” Dean thought for a moment and then gave the angel a stunned look. “All he did was give me a slight whack in the face with his wing. That was _nothing!_ Not to mention the fact he was fucking terrified at the time!”

“It does not matter to him. He knows it could have been much worse.”

Dean ran his hand through his hair again. “So – he has to stay in Heaven for most of the time to avoid going crazy and hurting humans accidentally.”

“To put it bluntly, yes.”

“Still doesn't mean it doesn't suck.”

“I agree. It does.” The angel frowned. “I will never understand slang and how sucking can be – ”

“Don't finish that sentence, Cas, just don't.” Dean went bright red. “Stinks. It stinks.”

“That makes much more sense.” The angel sighed. “It stinks like dinosaur shit.”

“What were you doing around dinosaur shit?”

Castiel straightened up, looking abashed. “It wasn't my idea. I merely went as a lookout while another angel in my garrison split the corpse of the creature and left half of it in present day South America and the other in Africa.”

“Wasn't Gabriel, was it?”

“No.” Castiel smiled. “Although it sounds like something he would have done. Gabriel was commander of a Legion of his own, just as Michael and Raphael currently are. It is rather complicated, I suppose.”

“I think complicated is starting to become an adjective for angels.”

“It already was, Dean.” 

“Been working on that sense of humor again, I see.” Dean shifted to the end of his bench, getting as close to Castiel as he could. 

“Yes.” The angel moved closer as well. “Before I forget, Liam asked if you would please get more of those little sandwich cookies he likes so much.”

“Oreos,” Dean said, grinning. “Sure. I'll get a package or two of those before you come visit.”


	5. Chapter 5

Shortly after New Year', Dean returned from Florida exactly six hours before the first major storm of that winter. When he looked back on the storm, he'd remember it as the worst one he ever lived through. He'd had the foresight to stock up on groceries _before_ his journey to Key West, thus all he had to pick up on his way back to the house was a gallon of milk and a container of eggs. After hauling a good chunk of the woodpile indoors, Dean figured he was as prepared as he could be for the approaching storm. Like all hunters, he knew to keep a good supply of batteries in the house, which were almost as important as extra rounds of rock-salt. Despite the imminent storm and the extra work, Dean was relieved to be home. He'd left Sioux Falls two days before Christmas and spent the holiday with the well meaning and rapidly moving to the top of his favorite people list, Aunt Jet and Uncle Harry. It'd been explained to him by his cousin Colleen that two of them had never been able to have kids of their own, so Jet (Dean still couldn't believe that was her real first name) took it upon herself to dote upon her older brother's children and grandchildren. Somehow the couple had taken it into their mind that Dean needed a lot more attention than any of the others at the moment. The crazy thing was, none of his cousins seemed to mind. Even Jennifer, who'd come back from Pittsburgh with her family for the holidays didn't even mind, and she'd not been back to Kansas in almost three years. Dean had very vague memories of the cousin who was the closest in age to him, mainly about the pair of them making mud pies. 

The house was almost exactly as he had left it, save for a few more dust bunnies and some snow on the ground. Once he had a fire started and gotten a few things unpacked, the house lost its unoccupied air and started to feel normal again. Dean was also starting to feel like himself again. Tomorrow, Castiel and Liam were supposed to arrive for a two week visit. The snow put a bit of a damper on things, but perhaps the weather wouldn't prove to be too horrible. There'd been something in Cas' voice the last time the two of them talked. Something that was clearly bothering Cas, and the angel didn't feel like sharing. Last time they had visited, Castiel had spoken of not knowing when he would be able to see them again. Perhaps it was related to that. Much as Dean hated _not_ being able to see Cas more than once a year in the flesh, they still had dreams in which to converse. If they were going to have to move to _only_ speaking in dreams, well, Dean could learn to live with that. He'd dealt with changes in his life before, and this was merely another one. 

*

Castiel could see the vast changes in the house the moment he and Liam arrived. It wasn't just the fact that it was clean and organized; it'd been that way the last time they were here. It had a new air about it as he settled Liam into one of the bedrooms upstairs. Dean had been anticipating their arrival and had left extra blankets on the beds in the room. But it wasn't that and it wasn't the snow and freezing rain lashing against the side of the house. As he came down the stairs to where he could hear the television droning, almost covering Dean's light snores, Castiel could tell what it was. Somehow, Dean was doing what he'd always done when things had changed for him; he'd adapted. The mantel over the fireplace alone told the story. It used to be devoid of objects, save for an old picture of the Winchester brothers and their father, taken when Dean was around eight and Sam was four. Now there were more frames, people Castiel didn't know until he was able to scan them. The Winchesters had found their way back to the family that their father had walked away from to live a life of hunting. Family had always, _always_ been what made Dean thrive. This would make things easier for him, having family to be around. 

He shifted onto the couch, setting Dean's head in his lap, his thumb brushing his temple. The need for sleep had completely abandoned him several days ago, a definite sign how rapidly things were changing. Liam still clung to sleep, but where he once slept for hours on end, now he barely slept for any longer than a handful of hours at a time.

“Cas?” Dean murmured sleepily. “Cas, is that you?”

“Yes, Dean.” He stilled his hand against the man's head. “You go ahead and sleep.”

“But...” 

“Ssh.” Castiel smiled, feeling Dean relax under his palm. “I will still be here when you wake.”

“Liam upstairs?” Dean did his best to repress a yawn and pulled the blanket a little closer around his shoulders. 

“Yes.” Castiel closed his eyes contentedly as he felt Dean's hand slide out and rest against his knee. “Comfortable?”

“Very.” Dean smiled. “You?”

“Yes.” He leaned against his free hand, staring at the television. “What on earth are you watching?”

“Not really watching, just sort of needed some background noise. 'Sides, I think the local weathermen are a lot more accurate about what's going on outside than those overpaid guys on the Weather Channel.” Dean chuckled. “They're the nuts who weren't sure if Blue Springs was a suburb of Kansas City or not.” He yawned. “If you want to move, I won't object.”

Castiel shook his head. “Not yet, I just want to sit like this for a little while longer.”

Dean glanced up at him before snuggling a little closer to him. “No objections here.”

The angel felt the man still and his breath slowly even out. For someone who had trouble sleeping, Dean could always fall asleep with alarming swiftness. Dean's need to sleep used to frustrate him. Not until he'd required rest as well had Castiel finally understood. Right now, however, he was glad that he no longer was held captive by that need. He needed to create as many memories as he could in the next two weeks – for this and the other memories of their time together would have to last him for decades.

*

Dean woke up in a mass of warmth. He didn't remember what time it was when he and Cas left the couch and had gone to bed, but it'd been sometime after midnight. He was so warm, so snug, he couldn't think of ever moving from this spot again. Castiel was curled up behind him, one arm draped over his side, holding their bodies flush against each other. He had a vague memory of the two of them coming into the bedroom and undressing one another and things had rapidly escalated from there. The blankets were tucked all the way up to his chin and everything seemed absolutely perfect in that moment. He didn't have to look to know that Cas was awake. He merely turned over in the angel's embrace and set his head against his lover's chest. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel set his head against Dean's, enjoying the moment. He knew that Liam was already up and downstairs, looking through a stack of photograph albums that hadn't been in the house the last time they visited. The young fledgling had even replenished the fire in the hearth and was drinking a mug of hot chocolate. Now that he was older, Liam could partake of more foods than he could six months ago. Now at least he could have tree fruits and nuts – but those that grew on vines were still forbidden. They'd be forbidden until he'd passed angelic puberty. Castiel wasn't sure of the schematics of it, but it had to do with some kind of impurity in the fruits. Or it was something gleaned upon by the Greek pagans, who'd discovered that eating fruit of the vine binds a person to the location where they ate it.

“What time is it?” Right now, all Dean wanted to do was keep burrowing under the covers.

“A little after eight.” He embraced the hunter tighter, kissing the top of his head. “Rest well?”

“Always do, when you're around.” He let out another yawn and stretched. “Guess we should get up.” 

“Not just yet – ” Castiel maneuvered them so Dean was on his back and he was leaning over him. “I just – ”

“Just what, Cas?” There was something off about the angel's tone. Dean thought he had been imagining it last night, but now there was no mistaking it. It sounded the same as it did right before everything had gone straight to hell almost two years ago. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought Castiel sounded _despondent._ “What is it?” Concern started rapidly taking the place of the warm feeling he'd had a moment ago. “Cas, what's wrong?”

“I – ” He brushed his fingers against Dean's forehead. “I was not entirely truthful when I told you I could not visit you again.”

Dean bit his bottom lip, cursing inwardly at the action. He'd always done that when something was wrong, that involuntary tic he'd managed to conquer when on a case, but now, lying as he and Castiel were, he couldn't hide the movement. “What's going on, Cas?” 

“I will not be able to see you again, Dean.”

“You already told me this. I know that you have a job to do, but we can still – ”

“No, Dean. We won't be able to see each other in the dream world either.”

Dean sat up, the cool air of the room negligible against the feeling creeping into his heart. “Not – not at all?”

“No.” Castiel set his hand against Dean's cheek. “I wish it was not so, but considering some of things that could have been done to punish me, it is a light sentence.”

 _“Light?”_ Dean couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. “What the, I mean, I know why they're going to punish you, but that? What's the purpose of keeping us from one another in dreams? It doesn't harm anyone!”

“It could have been worse, Dean. It could have been much, much worse. They could have taken Liam from me. I am fortunate that he was not taken when he was born.” His hand fell and so did his head. “I am sorry that is has come to this, Dean. It is not meant to punish you or Liam. The punishment is mine alone to bear. While you are inadvertently being punished in being separated from me for the remainder of your life, for that is what I was told, my superiors would argue that suffering is the lot of humans on Earth.”

“That's a load of shit, Cas.” Dean couldn't believe this. “Wait... are they taking Liam from you when you get back to Heaven?”

“Liam will be sent into full-time training. He is already older than I was when I started. He knew the day would be coming when he and I would no longer live together. As for his connection to you...”

“What?” Dean's voice turned icy. “What haven't you told me, Cas?”

“I do not know if Liam will remember us or not. It happens when they grow up.”

“He's half human, there's no guarantee, Cas.” 

The angel raised his head and then lifted his hand back to Dean's face, utterly relieved when the man did not pull away. “If he only remembers one of us, it is better that he remembers you. Do not worry for him or me, Dean. I told you this before, we will be fine.”

“It's in my nature to be concerned, Cas. You know that as well as anyone.” Dean's eyes were wet with unshed tears. “And don't go saying Liam's going to forget either of us, nature or not. Maybe other angels forget, but not him. Our son's not going to be forgetting anyone, I may not have much faith in God, but I've got faith in the both of you.”

Castiel leaned over and kissed the man's forehead. “Bless you for saying that Dean.” He pressed his forehead against Dean's, one hand on his shoulder the other around the back of his neck. “I just ask that you never lose that.”

Dean returned the embrace. “I'll try, Cas. Castiel. I'll do the best I can.”

The angel smiled and drew him closer, his face pressed into the man's hair. It registered in his mind that Dean had used his full name – something he rarely did. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I'm the one who should be thanking you.” Dean's voice was muffled against the angel's neck. “All you've done...”

“I already know, Dean.” He let the embrace grow tighter and finally did something he'd been longing to do for almost as long as he'd known Dean. He hunched his shoulders ever so slightly and then relaxed them, letting his wings unfurl from hiding and to wrap them around his love, surrounding him in warmth, comfort and a touch of grace. He could feel when Dean relaxed, the tension in his body slowly released and he melted into the embrace. “I've always known, because no matter how you tried to hide it underneath arrogance and irreverence, I've always been able to see it.” He lowered Dean onto his back and kissed his neck. “And I'm never, never going to forget that.” 

*

Dean tried not to think about the fact that the last time he'd seen Liam, he'd looked seven, and now he looked nine. He didn't know how much Castiel had told their son about what was going on, but it was pretty clear to Dean that Liam was a little more affected than he let on. He sat down on the couch, holding his mug of coffee while the boy slowly turned the page of a fat album. “You want to talk?”

“No,” Liam replied in a very Sam-like tone. “I don't want to talk.”

“Okay then.” Dean stood up and was about to head back to the kitchen when Liam spoke again.

“That's not true.” The boy set the album down on the table in front of him. “I just...” He looked up at Dean. “Dad... why can't I stay here with you?”

Dean sighed and sat back down. “It's safer for you in Heaven than it is down here, Liam.”

“How? Sure, it'd be kind of funny that I don't age at the same rate as the other kids and I was smarter than all of 'em in school but...”

“It's more than just that, Liam. I wish I could keep you here, but the truth of the matter is, you wouldn't like it down here all the time.” Dean stared into his coffee mug. “I won't tell you about how what you don't have always looks better than what you do have, but it is true. You can't just look at one thing and want to change it. You change one thing, everything changes.”

“I still don't know why I can't come down here and visit you, I mean, after papa – ” Liam bit at his lip. “It's not fair.”

“I know it's not fair. Unfair sucks, no question. But if things were fair, then there'd not be much to do in life except sit around and stare at one another.” Dean shook his head. “And I just quoted Pastor Jim and I swore I'd never do that.”

“I've met Pastor Murphy, he's nice.” Liam picked up his own mug and stared into it. “I still wish I could come visit.”

“Wish you could too, kiddo. But again, as Pastor Murphy once told me, you cannot teach a fisherman to plow as well as a farmer.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Liam gave his dad a confused look, tilting his head to the side. “Of course you can teach a fisherman to plow as well as a farmer, it will just take a matter of time.”

Dean took a sip of coffee before answering. “Well, then can you teach a whale to graze on grassland?”

“I...” Liam suddenly seemed to understand what his dad was telling him. “Everything has a purpose, so don't go trying to be something you're not. Is that it?”

“Well, I know I could train to run a marathon and I could finish with a decent time, but I know better than to try and swim the English Channel.” He frowned. “Heck, I don't even think I'd go over to Chamberlain and swim across the Missouri River.” 

“I bet that'd be fun.” Liam smiled faintly. “We went up there last summer. There was that lady, remember?” His eyes sparked at the memory. “The one with the hat that had all the flowers on it.”

Dean paused, thinking. “Yeah, they were all different sizes and it was lopsided. I think she called it a divine mess, or something.”

“She said her grandkids had made her the hat, so she loved it all the more for that, even though it was kind of gaudy. She was really, really proud of it.” Liam's shoulders slumped again. “Still don't like that I can't come back here.”

“No one said you had to, Liam.” Dean gave him a one armed hug. “Unfortunately, that's growing up. Having to put up with a lot of crap you don't like to do, but you have to do anyway.” 

Liam took a drink from his mug, frowning at the taste. “This doesn't taste very good cold.”

Dean almost laughed. “No, it doesn't.” He set his own mug down and took the boy's. “I'll go reheat this for you.” 

The boy smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, dad.”

“Not a problem.” He went into the kitchen. “You want some more as well?”

Liam leaned on the arm of the couch, thinking. “Uh, sure. I mean, yes, please.”

“Marshmallows too?” Dean called. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy come into the kitchen, looking confused.

“Marsh what?” 

“Marshmallows. I know I've got some around here somewhere. Ever since I figured out how to make Rice Krispie Treats, I always have a bag or two around.” Dean glanced out the window and groaned. “This is the worst snow so far of this winter.” 

“Papa?” Liam looked up at Castiel, who had joined him in the doorway.. “What are marshmallows?”

Castiel frowned in response, trying to think of the best way to explain the substance to the boy. “They are sweets.” He titled his head, smiling faintly. “I believe you would like them.”

“Cas, you want anything?” Dean said, looking up from the stove, where he was reheating the pot of hot chocolate. 

“I believe I will have some hot chocolate as well, thank you.” The angel smiled. “You should have some too, Dean.”

The man frowned and looked into the pan, judging how much there was. “If that's the case, going to have to make more... there's just about two mugs worth in here.”

Liam went over to the fridge and got out the jug of milk and set it on the counter. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Dean replied and caught Castiel's eyes over the boy's head. It was one of those moments to take and put away for days that seemed so dark, so long. It was a happy memory, and that more or less was what this trip really was about. Not so much a good-bye, but once last chance to build memories for a family that would soon be torn apart, maybe not for eternity, but there'd never be another chance to do this. “Don't suppose you know what you want for breakfast, do you?”

“Can we have waffles? Please?” Liam asked, sitting down at the kitchen table, and folding his hands on top of it. “With syrup?”

“I don't see why not.” Dean got out the package of hot chocolate mix and added it to the pot. “You going to join us this time Cas, or are you just going to watch?”

In the reflection in the window, Dean could see the very disgruntled look the angel gave his back for a moment before he saw a smile slowly creep onto his face. “I think I will have one or two.” Cas went over to the pantry to retrieve the mix from where he knew it was kept. “Liam, why don't you get out the butter and eggs from the fridge?”

Liam smiled at his dad and hopped down from his chair. 

“Sure!” 

Papa had said this would be their last trip and as much as it bugged him that he couldn't come back here alone and see dad, it had to be a hundred times worse for dad, because he'd lose both of them for a long time. Liam was pretty sure he'd see his papa in passing over the next couple of decades. After setting the eggs and butter on the counter, he shut the fridge and turned towards his parents and he promptly looked away again. They were kissing. He might be getting older, but he still wasn't old enough to watch grown-ups kissing and not feel a little weirded out. He wondered if other fledglings felt that way, or if it was just his human side showing itself again. 

*

Liam frowned at the mass of puzzle pieces laying the shoe-box. “So what, exactly is this supposed to be?”

“I'm not entirely sure.” Dean said, taking out a handful of the pieces. “I don't even know if this is one puzzle or a couple of them. I haven't seen these things since I was a little older than you.” He chuckled. “Doing puzzles was more of Sam's thing when we were kids than mine.” He shrugged. “I guess if we find all the edges and get those put together we'll have an idea of what we're working with.”

“Why is it that there's never mild weather when Papa and I come to see you, Dad? Last time it was insanely hot and there was a tornado. Now there's a blizzard.” Liam took out a handful of pieces and started to sort them.

“That's just how weather is, Liam. June and January simply happen to be extremes.” Dean sighed as Castiel came into the dining room. “You okay?”

“I am fine, Dean.” He sat down in one of the empty chairs. “The storm seems to be losing strength. I would estimate that there's three feet of snow on the ground.”

“Damn,” Dean muttered under his breath. “If there's one thing I'm thankful for in winter, it's that people who live in Sioux Falls know how to deal with this sort of weather. I was in Atlanta one time when it snowed. You'd have thought everyone lost their minds, the way they were driving.”

“How much snow was it?” Liam was sorting a pile of edges onto the lid of the shoe-box. 

“It was a dusting, just enough to give the grass a touch of white.” Dean snorted. “And they called it extreme weather.”

Castiel took out a handful of pieces and started to sort them. “It was not always the case in the area where Atlanta is located. Like much of North America, it was covered by a glacier.”

“Was that before or after the dinosaurs?” Dean paused. 

“After.” Castiel took another handful of pieces. “There are two puzzles in here.” 

“How many pieces are there, Papa?” Liam had sorted a good sized pile of edges.

“There is one that is one thousand pieces and the other is seven hundred and fifty.” He smiled absently.

“The smaller of the two is Mount Hood, the larger is Notre Dame Cathedral.”

“Where's Mount Hood?” Liam rubbed his nose as he kept sorting.

“It's in Oregon,” Dean supplied before Cas could. “Table going to be big enough for both puzzles, Cas?”

“More than enough room,” the angel replied and the family went back to work.

*

Dean leaned against the threshold of the spare room that Liam always used, his heart clenching. Just like in the past, Liam and Castiel had left while he was sleeping. It was a hollow, empty feeling – waking up in this house, alone, knowing he'd never see the two of them here again. For some crazy reason, Liam had actually made his bed, the way he had for the past two weeks, leaving his room neat and orderly either out of habit or just because. Dean went into the room and sat down on the bed, staring at his hands. Enduring this separation had seemed so much easier before it actually started. Last night, he'd tucked his boy into bed and, when asked, told him the story of how he got Sam back into hunting. Dean had to wonder how long after he'd fallen asleep did the two of them wait to leave. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, vaguely aware of the freezing rain pattering against the windows. It was a miserable day outside, and it matched the atmosphere inside. There was nothing to be done, nothing that could be done. He sniffled and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, just wishing he could wake up and find that he was currently dreaming, and that when he woke up, he'd be back at the start of the last two weeks. Or even better, find out that the two weeks were lengthened to two years or two decades. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. He figured he was allowed to have bad days. He stood up and slowly walked out of the room. 

Cas had told him time and time again not worry about him or Liam. Apparently the angel forgot that getting him not to worry was next to impossible. It was practically in his DNA to worry. The angel had been very vague about how long it would be, but something told Dean it would be at least ten years, probably closer to twenty. He took a deep breath and went downstairs to make himself some coffee. For now, he just had to get through today. Tomorrow, he'd get up and repeat the process. A day ago the lack of monsters had seemed like a good thing. Today, Dean really wished he had something evil to go hunt. 

**

Liam didn't think he'd end up in Gabriel's Legion, but since he knew there was no way he'd end up in Raphael's, he'd had a fifty-fifty shot of placement. There were two tunic shirts in his wardrobe, one with long sleeves (the one he was wearing now) and one with no sleeves, used mainly for physical training. Both of the new tunics were too big for him. He knew the purpose of that was so that he could grow into it, but it was still uncomfortable, the sleeves came halfway down his hands, making movement a little more difficult. He felt awkward no matter what he did these days. His wings were molting and that was rather painful. His white feathers were giving way to ones that were a pale yellow in color at the moment, with dark edges. One of his superiors had told him that the yellow would eventually darken into a golden color and his wings would be most similar to that of a golden eagle. Now that he'd been sorted into a legion, his training would become more focused. All of the other fledglings in his garrison were older than he was, but age was immaterial at times. He ran a finger under his collar and shifted in his seat. The entire legion had been summoned to the Garden and it gave Liam the opportunity to finally see who all was in the same group as him. He remembered the other gathering he'd been to in the Garden, of course, but it had been hard to tell who was who back then. 

“Here, let me help you.” A voice next to him cut into Liam's thoughts. 

“Huh?” He turned towards the elder angel sitting next to him.

“Let me help you,” the angel plucked at the back of Liam's tunic, allowing his wing to move a little more freely. 

“Thanks.” 

“You're welcome.” The angel folded his hands and turned back towards the center of the room. 

“You're...Anthony, right?” He could name most of the angels in his garrison, but others he was still learning.

“Yes, I am, ” the angel replied. “Liam, isn't it?”

“Uh huh.” He smoothed down his hair out of habit. “You don't know what's going on, do you?”

“I was told by Stephen that Gabriel's successor has been chosen. We are to learn who our new commander is.” The angel looked solemn. “Everyone says it will be Jeremiah. He took over after Gabriel left.”

“I, uh...” Liam looked down at his hands. “I was told no one really noticed Gabriel was gone. I mean when he first left, all those years ago. Is that true?”

Anthony sighed. “There weren't gatherings back then like there are now. It's mostly true. No one knew Gabriel was gone until around the time of the Columbus Expedition in fourteen ninety-two. A search for him was not initiated at that time, we assumed Gabriel's disappearance was part of the plan. ” 

Liam bit back a remark of thinking that it was pretty rotten no one went looking for Gabriel, even without being given an order. It made him think of the story about the shepherd looking for his lost sheep, but that must have been for humans, not angels. Still, you'd think someone would have wanted to bring the archangel home. 

The conversations in the Garden slowly stilled as Jeremiah, who had been Gabriel's lieutenant and commander of this legion for centuries (although it was only made official recently), came into the garden, a soft smile on his face. When he got close to the front ranks, two rows ahead of where Liam stood, he paused, looking over the vast gathering. Exactly two million angels, almost the entire legion, rustled uncomfortably as their provisional commander smiled at them all. He then turned the direction he came from, coming to rest with his hands clasped behind his back, his wings partially outstretched. Liam thought he made a rather impressive sight, like those pictures he'd seen of paintings of the Sistine Chapel. 

Liam stretched to stand on his toes to see two more figures coming towards them and then he noticed that the rustling increased the closer the newcomers came. One of the figures coming towards him he recognized – the other, he did not. Then something seemed to sweep the Garden, a gentle warm breeze that made Liam think of summer in South Dakota and the heady scent of lilies and gardenias seemed to flood his senses as well. The breeze was the Grace of the angel with Father, seeking out each and every angel in the legion, making contact, feeling, learning, taking names it did not know and greeting those it did. Liam heard Anthony next to him draw in a sharp breath of disbelief. From far behind Liam, he heard a shout that echoed across the Garden.

_“Gabriel!”_

Liam turned from the voice back to the sight in front of him. The archangel was looking over them all as if he couldn't believe the sight. Father said something to him, gave them all a smile and then vanished. Silence suddenly descended upon the ranks again as Gabriel's honey colored eyes swept them all. The archangel caught Liam's eyes for a moment, before Liam looked down, purely out of instinct. Next to him, he heard Anthony shift uncomfortably. 

“Well, Jeremiah...” Gabriel came over and grabbed the angel in a hug. “If you missed me even half as much as I missed you all, then it's no wonder you've got them all in a state of shock.”

Jeremiah returned the hug. “I still have not mastered humor, Gabriel. So I was unable to teach it to the others.”

Gabriel ended the embrace, but kept his arm around Jeremiah's shoulders and turned him around to look at the legion. “Well, then – I guess there's just one thing you're going to have to do to make up for it.”

“Is he trying to be facetious?” Liam whispered to Anthony.

“Ssh.” The older angel poked him. “Pay attention.”

Liam rubbed his arm and turned back to the front.

“What is that, Gabriel?” There was definite tone of penitence in Jeremiah's voice.

“I need you to properly introduce me to everyone who wasn't here the last time I was.” Gabriel's smile turned into a grin. “And for goodness sake – ” He gave Jeremiah a slight playful shove. “Relax. You're not in trouble.”

A soft round of giggles came from the ranks, Liam's among them. 

Jeremiah seemed to recover slightly and straightened his tunic. “Do you wish to start with the youngest or the eldest, Gabriel?”

“From front to back will work.” 

Gabriel turned his gaze back to the ranks and his eyes paused on a small fledgling a few rows back. Gabriel wasn't surprised when the boy looked away, a slight flush to his cheeks. He'd talk to the child some other time, when there were not so many others watching. Given who the boy's parents were, he knew full well how much the child would hate to be the center of attention.

**

Castiel had never known the corridors of Heaven to be so long or so vast. He passed door upon door set into light brown stone. He did not lift his head to see the lights above him or lower his eyes to see the stone mosaics laid into the floor under his feet. He did not want to think about how long it would be before he came out of one of these rooms and returned to the greater part of Heaven. He tried very hard not think about what Liam was doing at this very moment, of what Dean was doing – of what anyone else was doing. This was his punishment and it was, upon reflection, a very mild one at that. He could have been sentenced to this for centuries. Instead, he was to be here until Dean died. That could be as few as sixteen years or as many as fifty-nine. He could endure this. He knew he could. After what seemed like hours, Castiel finally caught sight of another angel standing next to an open door.

“Castiel.” The angel gave him a slight nod. 

“Rachel.” He replied, feeling his throat go dry. Rachel was a member of his garrison who had never sided with Uriel, no doubt she had been on the late angel's hit-list for refusing to follow him.

“In here.” She stepped back to let him pass into the room.

Castiel paused to look at the ornate work on the door. Like all the others, it was made of wood, but this one had carnations carved in an odd pattern around its edges and a tree he recognized as a maple made of stones inlaid in the center. The interior of the room was vast, even by his standards. Heaven had ways of expanding to fit what it needed to, and this room was definitely one of the largest rooms he had ever seen in his life. If he were to describe it to a human, he'd say it was as if every floor of the Willis Tower in Chicago had been placed upon the ground instead of on top of each other. A human soul could stand in this doorway and would be unable to see any of the other walls. It was only due to his angelic nature that he could do so. The walls of the room were covered in shelves and row upon row of shelves filled most of the empty space between them. The shelves were tightly packed with folios, many of them hastily bound and others neatly stacked. It was so chaotic and roughly stacked that it would have made the mess that Bobby Singer's house used to be look spotless. At the center, Castiel could make out several long tables, one groaning under the weight of ledgers and the other two were empty, save for an ink bottle and quill. He stepped inside and peered over the door, looking for the identifying tag that all prayer rooms held. When he caught sight of it, he knew he shouldn't have been amazed by the room's size. _American Civil War 1861-1865._ That explained the contents of the room. Every prayer uttered by every soldier, parent, or child, every prayer connected to that event in history was in this room. It was his duty to turn this mess of folios into those neat little ledgers, so they could be taken away and sorted into one of Heaven's libraries. 

“Someone will come and check on you every five years.” Rachel shifted slightly, looking embarrassed. “Or in case you get finished and they want to move you somewhere else.” 

“Thank you, Rachel.” 

“I'm sorry about this, Castiel.” She set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. 

“It is my own fault I am here.” Castiel was still taking in the vastness of the room. “But your condolences are appreciated.”

Rachel pulled out a small timer from a pocket and spun the dial five times around and then set the timer on the table with the ledgers. “Anything else I can do for you, Castiel?”

The angel turned slowly and shook his head. The sooner he started this mess, the better. “No, thank you.”

She other nodded and went to the door. “I will see you in five years.” 

Castiel watched as Rachel closed the door and heard the click of the lock sliding into place. He slowly walked to the tables and sat down on the stool behind them. He had been alone in this room for exactly one minute, and it felt like an hour. He sat there for one more minute before rising and going to the nearest shelf, and collecting a stack of messy folios and bringing them back to the tables. He'd make these neat first. That would help. Upon his return, he caught sight of a disc player, sitting under the table containing the ledgers, along with a cardboard box. 

Crouching down and placing the items on the stool, he saw that the box was full of discs in neatly labeled cases. He frowned, pulling one out to read the label. _War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy._ “Odd...” He flipped through the rest of the cases, and found that they were all recordings of books. A note stuck in the bottom read: _Collection will be replenished once all books have been listened to._ “Perhaps this will help.” Although he had a feeling that this first set of books had a message someone wanted him to learn. He pulled out a blue case and set the disc into the player before he turned his attention to his stack of messy folios. A moment later, a girl's voice Castiel identified as that of Heather O'Rourke began to speak. 

_“Tuck Everlasting, by Natalie Babbitt. Prologue. The first week of August hangs at the very top of the summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only climb from a balmy spring...”_ The words became a dull background noise as Castiel set to work, knowing that the true punishment here wasn't this insane sorting and filing, it was the losing the of perception of time that way all angels possessed. Humans would think nothing of it, for it was all they knew until they died. But for an angel, slowing down time to the pace of a human was akin to a cheetah being forced to become a sloth. 

Five years from now, Castiel would listen to a story called _Another Faust_ in which a girl who, ignored by her sister and her peers, was granted the opportunity to manipulate her perception of time in such a manner that she was able to learn every language ever spoken in order to find the first language, the _true_ language of men and angels. For some reason, the girl in the book would make him think of that film Dean loved so much called _Groundhog Day._ Ten years from now, shortly after finally completing the year 1863, he would listen to a book entitled _Three Weeks With My Brother_ by Nicholas Sparks and he would wonder if Dean conquered his fear of flying. 

But all that is a long time off, so for now, Castiel unbound the first folio and calmly started to organize the papers within. 

**

Dean hummed along with the radio as he drove from the salvage yard into Sioux Falls proper, heading for Holy Spirit Catholic Church. The pastor had called, saying that their church van had broken down and he was in need of a tow. After a few questions, however, Dean was able to determine the problem with said van (actually a Chevy Suburban) and told the man he'd be out with the replacement part to fix the car shortly. March was unseasonably warm this year, instead of its typical brutal behavior of dumping the worst elements of winter on South Dakota one last time before the arrival of April. He wasn't going to deny that the last two months had been hard. He knew they were going to be hard, but he'd steeled himself up for the long haul, knowing what was in store. It didn't mean he didn't worry for Liam or Castiel, but he knew, just as Cas did, that this was something they all had to get through. Although Dean figured that of the three of them, he'd actually gotten off the lightest. He sighed and turned into the parking lot where the pastor, a man close to Dean's age, was standing next to a blue van; the hood was thrown up, waiting. Dean parked the tow truck and got out.  
“Pastor Barrie?”

“Yes.” The man came over and shook Dean's offered hand. “Thank you for coming.”

“Not a problem.” Dean took his toolbox and the part he'd picked up and they walked over to the car. “How long ago did you turn the engine off?”

“It sort of went off on its own right before I called.” The man looked into the mass of wires and cables. “You said it was relatively minor over the phone.”

Dean frowned down at the engine. “It is, it's just a matter of getting the broken fan-belt out and the new one put in.” He set his toolbox down and opened it. “This is a pretty old model.”

“Yes, I know. I think it's the same one from when I went to school here, only with a new coat of paint.”

Dean snorted. “I don't think it's _that_ old, but its at least got ten years under it's tires and maybe twelve under this engine.”

“I do know the tires aren't that old,” the man said, watching Dean work. “The tires were purchased last year.”

He gave the man an incredulous look. “Please don't tell me you believed they were new when you bought them.”

Pastor Barrie frowned. “What do you mean? I was told they were new.”

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and shook his head. “The tires on this car aren't a year old, unless you've been off-roading in this vehicle. I know our winters are bad but they're not _that_ bad.” He went back to work. 

“They sold us used tires?” The man looked stunned. “Why would someone charge new tire price for old tires?”

Dean changed wrenches and looked up at the man from where he was working. “I hate to break it to you, Padre, but the world is full of assholes. They really don't care who they hurt or who they cheat.” He frowned. “Who'd you buy the tires from anyway? Mitchel down at Firestone?”

“No, Warfield Motors, the place next to the Lowe's on Market.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I know Warfield. The man's a creep. Odds are, the tires you were supposed to get are on one of his buddy's cars. I don't even let that man on my property, for all the times he's scavenged a part and passed it off as something brand new.”

“How very – unchristian of him.” The pastor shook his head. “I do appreciate you coming out here personally to fix the van. Our choir leaves for Pierre tomorrow.”

He set what was left of the fan-belt on the ground and pulled the new one out of its box. “I'd say it's more illegal than unchristian.” Dean grunted as he moved and adjusted the new part. “That's pretty awesome about the choir. I think I remember seeing something on the news about that. Some kind of competition, or something?”

“Yes, our choir won the county contest and will be heading to the capital to compete with the other winners there.” The pastor smiled. “It was one of our choir members who suggested I call you.”

Dean nodded and finished replacing the part. “Well, I'm just glad it was something simple and easy to fix.”

“That makes two of us.” The pastor gave him a genuine smile. 

*

Dean probably would never have gone back to Holy Spirit Church at all if the illustrious Minister Ignatius (real name Paul Henshaw) of the New Evangelical Church and star of the Evangelical Hour hadn't gotten arrested for fraud and had his show canceled. Dean had only kept watching the show for two reasons: the music and to talk back to the good preacher when he said the most asinine things. But he'd woken up the Sunday after the arrest and found himself missing the music. After a quick check of Holy Spirit's website, Dean found himself standing in the back of the church, arms folded and eyes closed, listening to the choir in the loft belt out some song about Jerusalem. Going to a church of his own free will when it wasn't related to a case? Sam, if he ever found out, would never let him live down. Then again, Pastor Jim kept trying to get the Winchester Brothers to believe that miracles happen every day, and Dean Winchester voluntarily walking into a church definitely counted as a miracle. He just wasn't about to share it with anyone. After services, however, Dean found himself waylaid in the vestibule by the entire choir who all seemed to have the urge to personally thank him for fixing the church van. You'd think he'd overhauled the engine, not replaced a fan-belt.

“It was really wonderful, you coming on such short notice.” A middle aged woman shook Dean's hand. “We were worried it was going to be something major.”

“It was nothing, really.” This was rapidly becoming Dean's response to that statement.

“Oh, aren't you a modest one?” She smiled brightly. “Not many young men like you anymore.”

“Yeah...” Dean had been cornered by this lady, whose name he still hadn't gotten, but it was pretty obvious that the rest of the choir had gone to see their families. “I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Betty.” She didn't look upset at his forgetfulness. “Betty Shaara. Pastor Barrie didn't tell us you were a member of our congregation.”

“I'm not, actually.” Dean nodded at the pastor who waved at him in acknowledgement. “I just came to listen to the music.”

“Really?” The woman blinked at him in surprise. 

“I figure that music is the only thing that almost every single denomination has right. Some might have views that are completely wacko... but a lot of them do have pretty music. As my brother always puts it, the Mormons might have some weird ideas, but they do have one amazing choir.”

The woman let out a bit of a laugh. “They do at that. Have you ever heard them live?” She put her hand against her collarbone. “It's amazing.”

“I'm not one for big concerts like that.” Dean felt embarrassed. He'd made up a half-truth – the only reason he'd ever listened to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir was that Liam had heard one song sung by them and then asked if he could hear more. It was his own opinion that Mormons were crazy. But, again, as Pastor Jim often said, it's good just to have faith.

“No.” Betty looked Dean over, appraising him. “I guess you wouldn't be. Not that they ever come to Sioux Falls anyway. I went all the way to Rapid City for that concert.”  
“Must have been nice.” He coughed. “Would you excuse me, please?”

“Certainly. And thank you, again,” she replied as Dean stepped away.

“You're welcome.” Dean nodded and headed outside into early spring air. 

*

The phone rang three times before it was answered. “Hello?” 

Dean repressed the urge to chuckle at the worn-sounding voice. “Hey, Chuck, I didn't wake you up, did I?”

“N...no.” There was a rustle and then a soft curse. “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He sat down on the couch, holding onto his phone. “Now, do you know why I called or you want to play twenty questions?”

“Castiel.” Chuck let out a deep sigh. “I didn't see all that much, Dean.”

“Sort of figured you didn't, just wondering if you saw anything.” Dean just wanted a snippet of information, anything more than what Cas told him.

“Uh...there was this group of angels, twelve or thirteen of them, it was hard to tell. Haven't made out a lot of the details quite yet, but I know he and Raphael were both among them.”

“Raphael?” Dean blinked in surprise. “These angels... they all in trouble?”

“Something like that, I think. I think they were all punished, somehow.”

“Punished, like – Heaven's idea of torture punishment or what?” Dean was starting to grow concerned.

“No, nothing like that, I think.” There was a rustling noise that might have been Chuck standing up. “I think it was more isolation than anything.”

“Isolation.” Dean rolled the word around in his mind. That made sense. If there was one thing all angels hated, it was being alone. “Shit.”

Chuck cleared his throat. “Yeah...”

“Dude, you okay?” Dean frowned.

“Yeah, why?” Chuck coughed again.

“You sound sick.” 

“Allergies,” Chuck supplied. “I really wish I could help out more than what I told you Dean, but the rest of the angels... they aren't saying much.”

“Well, thanks anyways – ” Dean sighed. “You'll call me if you know anything more?”

“I'll try, Dean. Can't make any promises.” Chuck coughed. 

“Sure. Take care of yourself.” Dean disconnected before giving the man a chance to say goodbye. “This sucks.” He tossed his cell onto the coffee table and sank back into the couch, his hand over his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Looking back, Dean decided that the first year was unquestionably the hardest. Each year had gotten progressively easier, not by much, but still, knowing that each year was one closer to the end was a rather morbid consolation. However by the ninth year, Dean had come to the point where he almost didn't think about how hard it was. Brooding over the time and the separation had only proved to make it worse. So, he had done the logical thing and found ways to distract himself. Some things remained constant, however; every Thanksgiving he went to Atchison, (Uncle Keith and Aunt Lydia now lived in the house) every Christmas he went to Blue Springs, and nearly every Sunday he went to Holy Spirit to listen to the choir sing. Dean figured that if Pastor Jim was still alive, the shock of him going to church on a regular basis would kill him. 

Dean splashed some cold water on his face and took a look in the bathroom mirror. In ten years, his face hadn't changed all that much. The lines at the corners of his eyes had gotten a little deeper and his hair bore some faint streaks of gray, but other than that, he couldn't see any real differences. He let out a breath and headed downstairs. It was July and in a few hours, Sam, Gina and their two kids, Holly (age eight) and Daniel (age five) would be arriving for a stop in Sioux Falls on their way to a family vacation in the Black Hills. It was almost amusing, in a way. At one time, the Singer Salvage Yard had been a haven to hunters seeking shelter or looking for research. Now, still a sanctuary for hunters from time to time, the house was mainly a place to stay for various family members heading out west or north for vacations. The weapons cache in the house was still prevalent, however Dean always made sure any room where kids would be sleeping was weapon free. Everyone who visited followed the rule that they were to 'assume it's loaded' and not to touch any weapons they found. The only one who'd ever been enough of a wise-ass to not do so was his cousin Peter a few years ago. Thankfully, the only casualty of the incident had been a lamp. The lost Winchesters had slowly worked their way back into their father's family's lives, Dean taking to it a lot faster than Sam. That was probably due to the fact that Dean had always thrived on family and adding more to the flock just made him feel better. 

Dean yawned as he came into the kitchen and started to make a pot of coffee. He had most of the day to fill before Sam and his family arrived and with the shopping and cleaning done, that didn't leave him much else to do except work on the car he was currently restoring; a fifty-three Cadillac that some Chicago big-wig had found rusting on a trip down to Mississippi. It was far from rusting now, most of the work was done, save for a lot of detailing. It still amazed Dean that even with the advancement of technology and how half the cars today ran on hydrogen fuel – there were still many who chose to drive the good, old fashioned, internal combustion, gasoline powered cars. Of course, after a revolution in Venezuela brought an end to the US embargo and the fact that America had finally started to become free from the use of foreign oil, a gallon of gas cost the same as it did when Dean was a kid. Two weeks ago, he'd filled up the Impala for twenty-five dollars. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised at the number of people driving gasoline-powered cars, when a full tank of hydrogen fuel cost closer to forty dollars. 

Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose as he retrieved his favorite mug from the drying rack on the sink. It was shamrock green and were it not for the fact that it had been a gift, Dean probably wouldn't have it in his kitchen. Liam had found said mug one day at a garage sale they'd gone to the summer of the tornado. He'd liked it because it was green and he'd stated that, “Dad's got mugs of every color except this one.” For fifty cents, Dean figured it was probably one of the best things he'd ever been given. Technically he'd sort of bought the mug, since he had given Liam that dollar to spend however he wanted. True, a dollar wasn't a lot of money, however, Castiel had approved of the idea, and there wasn't much that Liam ever wanted, other than being allowed to draw one more picture before bedtime. The remaining fifty cents of that dollar had gone to the little girls who'd been selling lemonade and cookies at the sale. Those girls, Dean reflected, had probably just graduated from high school, or were about to. 

He smiled to himself as he filled the cup and made his way over to the table. As much as he loved the peace and quiet of his mornings these days, the change over the next few days would be a good one. He just wished that Sam and Gina's work schedules would let them visit more often and that his job allowed him to go to Blue Springs. With the lack of a partner and being somewhat isolated, Dean couldn't leave the yard for an extended period of time, owing to theft. In a few weeks, he was going to leave the house in the capable hands of the Fitzpatrick family and finally take that trip to Alaska he'd been thinking about taking for a few years. He was going to drive all the way to Vancouver to get on the boat, because he still wasn't getting on an airplane. Sam could make fun of him all he wanted, but Dean preferred to stay on the ground. When Sam learned the reason Dean was going now and not waiting a few more years, however, he might just offer to drive him all the way to Alaska. 

*

Sam had once been told that your children will be ten times worse than what you were. He never believed that, or if he did, felt that it shouldn't be too hard. He figured Dean had been lying about what a pain in the ass he'd been, his big brother teasing him or something. That was until Holly Winchester reached the age of four and stopped making statements and started asking questions. At age eight, the girl (who'd been named after Audrey Hepburn's character in _Breakfast at Tiffany's)_ had just about picked her dad and mom's brains with almost every subject that mattered to an eight year old. Gina's answer to the problem had been to teach the girl to read before she was five. Sam sometimes felt that only fueled the fire, however, a book would keep the girl silent for at least ten minutes.

Daniel (named after the late hunter who'd been in possession of the Colt or Gina's father, depending on who you asked) was picking up his sister's questioning behavior and then, in true cosmic payback form, was rough and tumble at the same time. He wasn't just 'all boy' as his gran often said. Sam knew that Daniel was figuring out how to do the 'all boy' stuff even better, which was the reason that Band-Aides were almost a constant on the shopping list. He was also very, very loud. His preschool teachers had called him hyperactive. Sam called it being a Winchester. Whereas his sister would be contented with reading, the boy was in constant motion, stopping only to sleep and eat. Sam was very grateful that the drive to Sioux Falls was only four hours and the one from there to the town of Nemo was six. 

Sam's only real trouble with road trips, or any trip for that matter, was the difference in 'starting out early' according to him and according to Gina. Growing up the way he did, heading out early meant six o'clock. Gina didn't call that early, she called it ungodly early. Early, according to her, was that they got on the road by eight. He let out a yawn as he finished packing the luggage into the van. He had insisted that the suitcases at least be down and waiting to go into the car before bed last night. “Don't go near the street, Danny,” Sam said, not even turning as his youngest flew past him on his scooter. “And thank you for remembering your helmet.” Better to let the boy release some energy before being confined. He shut the cargo door and turned as the tow-haired boy turned at the end of the drive and headed back up towards him. “Is your sister up?”

Daniel dragged his foot along the pavement to slow himself down. “Yeah. She's watching that stupid horse movie again.”

Sam shook his head. “Your sister likes horse movies. I seem to recall a certain someone who requests we watch _Cars 3_ every time it's his turn to pick on family movie night.”

“Yeah, but _Cars 3_ is awesome dad!” Daniel grinned, showing the gap where his front teeth were missing. “Uncle D likes it.”

“Your uncle likes any movie made by Pixar.” Sam chuckled. “For the record, his favorite happens to be _Monsters Inc._ ” 

The door in the garage opened and Gina leaned outside. “Daniel Adam Winchester, get back in here and clean up your place at the table!”

Sam gave his son a hard look. “You forget to do something again?”

Daniel grinned sheepishly and ran inside, leaving his scooter lying on the drive. “Be right back, dad!”

Sam just shook his head and picked up the scooter and carried it to its place, next to the row of bikes and other outdoor toys filling a small area in the garage. He came into the kitchen where Daniel was cleaning up some spilled cereal. “You remember to make your bed too?”

“Daaad.” Daniel set his bowl next to the sink. “I'm not gonna sleep in it tonight!”

“Doesn't matter,” he replied. “You're supposed to make your bed every morning.”

“Holly hasn't made her bed yet!” 

“That's because I'm still in my pajamas, stupid.” Holly came into the kitchen carrying an empty plate.

“Don't call your brother stupid.” Sam rubbed his temple. “Both of you go make your beds and get ready to go. Uncle Dean's expecting us by lunch time.”

“Yes, dad,” the two of them chorused and then ran to their rooms.

Sam put the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher as Gina came into the kitchen. “I think we may have to stop letting them have sugary breakfast cereal.”

Gina chuckled and stood on tiptoe to kiss her husband's cheek. “Then we'd never get them to eat their vegetables.” She went over to the coffeepot and refilled her mug. “You want any more?”

“No, thanks,” Sam replied. “You okay?”

“I always worry something is going to happen when we go up to your brother's house, that's all.”

“Gina, I talked to him last night. Almost every single gun is locked up in the basement.”

“See, you said every single...”

Sam set his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “My brother keeps the door to his room locked whenever he's not in it, you know that.”

“I still worry.” She settled in his arms. Gina was a full foot shorter than Sam, with dark brown hair that was just showing the faintest touches of gray. “Don't tell me you don't as well.”

“I do.” Sam hugged her. “Besides, Peter's an ass, you know that.”

She shook her head. “Still...”

Sam hugged her a little tighter. “I'll double check the kid's room when we get there, okay?”

“Okay.” She pulled away and headed out of the kitchen. “I'm almost finished getting things together. Did you remember to pack the scooters?”

“Crap, no,” Sam grinned. “I'll go do that.”

Gina glanced at her watch. “I'll have the kids bring their backpacks down in ten minutes and have the two of them ready to go in twenty.”

“Sounds good.” Sam checked his watch and then went into the garage to finish packing things in the car.

*

Holly liked going to her uncle's house, even if it was really old and it smelled funny. Dad said that the scent was Old Spice and whiskey, both having been spilled so many times in the house the scent was now ingrained into every room. She didn't mind the smell so much because there were lots of books, and even though dad wouldn't let her read any of them, someday she would, there were so many that if she borrowed a book one time they were there Uncle Dean wouldn't notice. Her home was pleasantly chaotic, as her mom called it. Uncle D's house was insanely clean. Or at least, it was when she was there. She'd asked her dad if his brother was OCD and while he assured her that he wasn't, Holly wasn't so sure. She leaned back in her seat, staring out the window, watching the Iowa cornfields give way to the occasional dairy farm as they raced up the highway. “Dad?”

“Yes, sweetie?” Sam caught his daughter's hazel eyes in the rear-view mirror. 

“Is Liam going to be there?” Holly always asked about the cousin almost no one in the family had met. 

“No, Holly.” Sam turned his attention back to the road. “Liam hasn't been to see your uncle in a really long time.”

“See, it's been a long time. He should come for a visit.” It seemed perfectly logical to her. “He's almost fifteen, that's old enough to get on a plane and come all the way from Christchurch to see us.”

Sam sighed. “Holly.”

“Dad,” she replied in the exact same tone.

“Liam's probably afraid of flying,” Daniel interrupted, his eyes still focused on the game he was playing on his Leapster. “Just like Uncle D, Right, Dad?”

“Something like that, yes.” 

“Such a pity,” Gina said. She, of course, knew the truth about Liam. She knew about everything regarding the Winchesters. She'd sometimes asked herself why she didn't run when she learned it all, then she'd look at her two children and couldn't think of it being any other way. “Maybe someday he'll come for a visit.”

“It'd be nice.” Sam managed a smile. “I've not met Liam either.” He shook his head. “And on that note, the two of you are not to bring him up in front of your uncle. It upsets him.”

“Yes, dad.” Holly turned and returned her gaze out the window. 

**

Castiel shoved another completed journal into place and let out a groan of relief. It had taken two years, but he'd made it through the battle of Gettysburg. He had honestly lost track of how many prayers had been _I don't want to die, please God, don't let me die._ He thought it might be in the upper millions by now. Said prayer might have been important at the time; however, by now all the men who had survived this war were long dead. Unfortunately, regulations were regulations, and he knew he'd be seeing that prayer a lot more before this project was over. He rubbed at his eyes and then stretched before rising to get the next set of bound folios. As he set them on the table, the door clicked open and he looked up, frowning. He wasn't due for another 'visit' for five years, as someone had checked up on him just a few weeks ago. A small, rosy cheeked fledgling looked into the room, frowning. Castiel guessed by human standards, she might be five or six. “May I help you, little one?”

“You're alone in here?” She was looking from right to left.

“Yes.” He titled his head to the side, frowning. “Are you lost?”

“No...don't think I am.” She leaned back into the corridor. “Unless I miscounted again.” She pursed her lips. “I told Colin this wasn't a good place to play hide and go seek.”

“I did hear someone run up the corridor a short while ago.” Castiel sat back in his chair. “Although I do not know who it was.” 

The girl frowned, leaning into the room. “What in the world are you doing?” She seemed as awed by the size of the room as Castiel had first been.

“Filing prayers.” 

“Sounds _boring._ ” She offered him a smile. “I'm Erica. What's your name?”

“Castiel.” He didn't think the fledgling knew what he was doing, otherwise she never would have unlocked the door. That suddenly made something click in his brain. Fledglings were almost never let into this part of Heaven. Someone was testing him. “If you're looking for your way back to the nesting area, you need to go down the corridor that way.” He pointed with his right arm. “Until you pass nine halls crossing it. Turn left into the tenth hall and someone can help you find your way back home from there.”

“Oh. I need to find Colin. Can you come out and help me find him?”

The girl suddenly looked so small, so easy to just step around and... Castiel shook his head apologetically, regaining his senses. “I'm sorry, child I cannot help you. If Colin ran the rest of the way down this corridor, he will run into one of the libraries. One of the angels who work there will make sure he gets back to his parents.”

“Thanks.” She pulled the door shut and Castiel heard the lock click. 

Sighing, the angel stood and went over to the worn CD player and pulled out the disc that had just finished playing and returned it to its case. He'd been right. The books had helped the passage of time. He'd also been right about the theme of the books he'd been given. Each set had been out to tell him something different, forming some larger puzzle he'd not quite figured out just yet. Castiel pulled his next selected book out and placed the disc in the player. He had to smile when the voice came on, for he recognized the speaker immediately as one of his favorites, a boy who died far too young, River Phoenix. _“Different Seasons, by Stephen King. Book One – Apt Pupil.”_

The angel smiled and unbound his folio and got back to work. He had survived ten years so far and he was sure he could survive another decade. He could survive another if he had to. He'd survive the full thirty if he had to. As much as he loved and missed Dean, he knew that the man would have to die for them to be together again. He couldn't bring himself to think about Dean dying. He shook his head to clear it and returned to his work, pulling a fresh journal towards him. 

*

The house was so different now. Sam still expected Bobby to show up every time he visited, demanding to know what the hell happened to the place. Maybe it was the fact that the house stopped looking like a strong breeze would blow it over and now looked well maintained. The interior, however, hadn't changed all that much. Most of the furniture was the same, same old couch, same books, same table and chairs in the kitchen. The other change, of course, was Dean. There was something off about his brother; Sam could tell that just by looking. Maybe it was a summer cold or something; but Dean wasn't exactly _Dean_ anymore. Either that or the two of them were just getting older. He'd last seen his brother back in May, when Dean had driven down to Missouri for Sam's birthday. Perhaps the biggest factor that something was up was when Sam opened the fridge and saw only the type of beer he and Gina drank, exactly one six pack of Budweiser Select bottles, and none of Dean's preferred beer of choice, Natural Light. There also wasn't any Coca-Cola in the fridge, only Diet Coke, which his brother detested. He knew Dean wouldn't go back on the hard liquor again. Dean hadn't drunk anything stronger than champagne since he learned about Liam. He opened one of the bottles of beer and stepped into the library, observing his brother who was looking over some printouts. “Working a case?”

“Something like that.” Dean sighed and looked up. “Dude, why didn't you tell me Holly turned into the Spanish Inquisition?”

“Dean, she's always been like that.” He sat down on the couch, grinning. “She just hasn't had the opportunity to pick your brain for a few months, so she's taking advantage.”

Dean chuckled and took a drink from his mug. “Well, at least her questions are a little easier to answer than the ones you used to ask.” He coughed.

Sam made a face and took a swig from his bottle. “You don't want one?” He indicated the beer.

“No thanks, Sam.” He set his mug down. “I'm just going to come out and say this. I haven't been feeling too hot for the past few weeks.”

“You sort of look it.” He flinched at the look his brother gave him. “What is it?”

“Well, first I thought it was just a cold or something, but it wasn't the usual congestion, pass me the Nyquill sort of cold. When I couldn't shake it after a month, thought I better get things checked, just in case, you know?”

“Oh shit, Dean.” Sam stood up. “What is it?”

“It's nothing, Sam. Nothing I can't handle.” He took a sip of tea from his mug. “Just sit down, I'll tell you what I was told, okay?”

Sam set his bottle down, frowning. “Cancer?” He was guessing at this point. 

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia. It's pretty minor, given how far cancer treatment has come in the last ten years. I'll go on my trip, come back, have chemotherapy and with a little luck, be in remission by my birthday in January.”

“It's still _cancer_ Dean. That's still serious!”

“I know it's serious, Sam.” Dean leaned back in his chair. “I'm lucky they caught it this early. It's stage one, so it's not like it's going to kill me by Christmas.”

“So! You could still die from it!” Sam stood up and started to pace across the room.

“Yeah, Sam. It's going to kill me. In twenty fucking years it's going to kill me. Hell, in twenty years, there will probably be a cure for the damn thing, so I could live another thirty after that. However, I've never really set my sights on celebrating my hundredth birthday.”

Sam ran his hands through his hair, stunned. “How can you be so...so – ”

“Sam, calm down. I'm going to be _fine._ Chemotherapy can't be any worse than some of the other shit I've been through.” Dean picked up his mug again. “'Sides, like I said, they caught it early. The earlier they find it, the better your odds.”

Sam slumped down on the couch. “Shit, Dean – you're going to have to – I'll have to make some arrangements.”

“Don't start with that. Believe it or not Sam, your big brother actually has friends here in Sioux Falls.”

“They're not _family._ ” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Still, I don't want you being alone during a time like this.”

“All I'll need is for someone to drive me to and from the hospital and I've already talked to Pastor Barrie down at Holy Spirit. There's a whole bunch of kids who need service hours to graduate high school who sign up for this sort of thing. It won't be the first or the last time I've had to take care of myself when I'm sick.”

“Dean, you're not a Catholic.” 

“Thank you, Captain Obvious, I'm aware that I'm not Catholic. I just happen to go to that church every time I know the choir's going to be singing.”

“Isn't that...”

“Don't say it's abusing a system, Sam. We've done way, way worse than bumming rides off kids doing a good deed.” Dean smiled wanly and took another sip of tea. 

“So that's why you're not drinking soda or alcohol.” Sam stared at his own brown bottle on the table as if it was something lethal.

“Doctor said changing my diet was one of the best ways to fight this thing. Figured I could cut soda, liquor, and try to cut the grease down. Though that's proving a little harder than I thought it would be.”

“You still get to eat pie?” Sam managed a small smile.

“I'll have you know that certain types of pie count as a serving of fruit.” Dean grinned and drained the last of his tea. “And given the size I like my slices, they count as two.”

*

Sam told Gina about Dean the same night he found out. However, he didn't want the kids to know, not yet. Dean had told him that he had twenty years, if the treatment went well. In twenty years, both of his kids would be adults and could have families of their own. If that wasn't a thought to keep Sam up, he didn't know what was. He also wasn't surprised that Dean had been rather light about the whole thing. Dean's nature was always to roll with the punches and get up and recover. However, Sam knew he'd have to tell Holly and Daniel something because, odds were, Dean would look even more different come November. What he also hated was the fact that Dean was just going into this alone. It had been a weight on him all during the trip and he'd done his best to hide it from his kids. However, in his worry he forgot about the fact that he had one of the most observant kids who had ever lived.

“Dad?” Holly came out onto the porch of the cabin they were renting. Mom was inside packing and Danny was watching a movie. 

Sam turned. “Yeah, Hols?”

The blond haired girl came over and hugged her dad around his waist and looked up at him. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing is wrong. Why would you think that?” Sam knew the look his daughter was giving him. It was the same look he used to give his dad and brother when he knew they were lying.

“Cause you've been kinda grumpy lately. Danny and I aren't arguing in the car and we haven't gotten lost, so what's the matter?”

Sam sighed and led the girl over to the porch swing and sat the two of them down. “If I tell you this, you have to promise you won't tell your brother. I don't want him having to know before he needs to, okay?”

Holly bit her lip. “Mom's not pregnant again, is she?”

“No, no it's not that.” Sam almost laughed. “Though given what it is, I almost wish it was that.” He sighed. “Your Uncle Dean is sick.”

“He didn't look sick.” She frowned. “He didn't act sick either.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. However, he is. You remember when Aunt Jet died?”

“She had cancer.” Holly's hazel eyes suddenly filled with panic. “Is Uncle Dean gonna...”

“No,” Sam said in a firm voice. “Uncle Dean's going to be _fine._ See, there's lots of types of cancer. The kind Aunt Jet had, it's almost impossible to detect until it's too late. She had pancreatic cancer. They found Uncle Dean's cancer early enough that they can treat it and make him better. His kind is in his blood, so it wasn't as hard to find.”

“Are we going to have to move to Sioux Falls?” Holly rubbed her nose, sniffling.

“No, sweetie. We're going to stay in Blue Springs.” He kicked at the ground with his foot to set the swing in motion.

“Who's going to take care of Uncle Dean while he's sick?” She sniffled. “He doesn't have anyone living with him.”

“He's got friends, Hols. I'm also going to go up and see him whenever I can. So you're going to have to help your mom out, okay?”

“I already do, dad.” She sounded a little indignant.

“More than you already do, sweet pea. I know you're a helpful kid. It's going to be tough, but in the end, everything is going to be just fine.” Sam hugged her a little tighter.

Holly rubbed her nose, frowning. “Is Liam going to come and see his dad?”

“I – I don't know, baby – ” Sam let his gaze drift upward, as if expecting to see either Castiel or some other angel watching them from the roof of the porch. “I'd like to think he will.”

**

Dean returned from his first real vacation in forever feeling reinvigorated. The diet the oncologist had put him on before he left had actually been easy to follow, owing to the massive amounts of seafood that had been served on board the ship. Even with the medicine he'd had to take, which basically had kept him from doing any type of swimming or walking for extended periods of time, he'd still managed to have an amazing time. He'd first heard of how fantastic the trip was from Uncle Keith, who had taken the trip with Aunt Lydia for their fortieth wedding anniversary. What he wasn't looking forward to however, were the rounds of chemotherapy that were waiting for him upon his return. He hadn't been able to drive the Impala to Vancouver, as he had hoped. Instead, he'd taken a train and looking back on the whole journey, had actually liked not having to worry about a motel for the night or refueling the car. The only bad part about the whole trip had, of course, been that he'd not been on the trip with Castiel.

He groaned softly and titled his head up towards the shower spray, relishing the warmth spreading over him. He didn't know when he'd get another chance to do this and not feel tired, or dizzy or whatever the fuck the chemotherapy was going to do to him, because he'd seen what it'd done to others. Aunt Jet had lost pounds of weight and her vigor had been scrubbed out like a stain. Dean kept telling himself that he could beat this illness, he'd get better and then things would get back to normal. He still had a lot of work to do. Like teaching Holly and Danny how to drive and do minor repairs to cars. Hell, he had to find someone to man the great research empire Bobby had left him. True, most hunts these days were nothing more than vengeful spirits and the occasional vampire, but still. He shut the water off with a sigh and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist. 

In his absence from the house in the salvage yard, Aunt Lydia and Dean's friend Sally had taken it upon themselves to make the place spotless and almost entirely dust free so that when he returned home from his first round of chemo, he wouldn't have to worry about infection too much. A couple night's stay at the hospital was minor compared to what he'd had in the past, of course; those times he'd been so full of pain killers or completely out of it, he hadn't been to aware of the time. He finished getting dressed, almost laughing when he found that somehow, Sam had managed to slip that old hoodie of his – the one that Gina had been screaming at him to get rid of for years – into Dean's closet. He tucked the garment into his bag along with a few clean pairs of socks. It wasn't like he needed to take much with him and he double checked everything as he heard a car pull up in front of the house. He looked out the window and saw a scrawny teenage boy with glasses get out of the driver's side and a woman Dean guessed was the boy's mother roll down the window and say something to him: the first in a string of teenagers looking to earn some service hours. He grasped the handles of his bag a little tighter and headed downstairs just as the doorbell rang.

*

Liam adjusted his grasp on the stack of scrolls he was carrying. He was technically considered a page, but he was starting to think that was just a shorter way of saying errand boy. His angelic age was approaching two hundred, and while he was mostly through puberty, given his job, he had to spend most of his time in standard form, rather than true form. This made flying next to impossible at times. He paused in one of the hallways, rummaging through the large bag slung around his shoulder. He tucked one more scroll into the bag and found the four he had to deliver before starting back up the hallway. He kept close to the wall, out of the way of the angels who outranked him in more ways than one. This wasn't even his route; however, the usual runner had a special assignment on Earth, namely going to tap the next prophet and well, who was Liam to argue?

The corridor he turned off into wasn't as crowded as the first and he strode purposefully toward his destination. He hadn't gone more than five steps when a sharp pain laced through his mind, driving him to his knees. He fumbled for the dropped scrolls as the pain became a pronounced scream. He couldn't pin its source or cause, he could only press his hands against his temples as the long, horrid sound continued and then, as quickly as it came, ended like a candle being snuffed out. 

“Liam?” A hand shook him by the shoulder and he looked up. 

“Rachel?” He looked up into the older angel's face as she handed him several of his scattered materials.

“Are you okay?” She helped him stand, her face concerned.

“I – I think so.” He rubbed the side of his head again, frowning. “What – Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” She frowned at him. 

“That scream. Didn't you hear that scream?” Liam was confused as he shifted the scrolls.

“No, I didn't.” The older angel shook her head. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“Yeah.” He smoothed back his hair. “Just fine. Thank you for your help.”

“Not a problem.” She nodded and went back up the hallway as Liam turned and went down it, the sound of the scream still ringing faintly in his ears.

*

Castiel was halfway into the siege of Vicksburg when the scream hit him. What started off as a long indistinguishable howl, the noise grew more and more pronounced and drove the angel to the floor and caused him to curl up in a fetal position as his body seized him with total pain. He grasped the table leg tightly, trying to focus, trying to find the source and then, in a flash of clarity, he recognized the voice that was pounding his brain. 

It was Dean's. 

It wasn't a sound of pain-pain, it was fear. Something, something horrible was happening to Dean and he couldn't help him. Castiel turned over on the floor, reaching out the best he could with his grace, trying to find the cause, find the source. Unfortunately making out Dean's location was like trying to see the bottom of a lake many fathoms deep. He stretched his hand out, the same hand he had once used to grasp the man from the depths of Hell, and that was when his mind cleared a little and he realized what was making Dean's soul scream in pure agony. Whatever was happening to Dean, it was making him think of Hell, and quite vividly. Now the angel felt himself floundering. The man needed his help. Someone's help. 

He could make out the vague sense of a room filled with people. It was murky, and in that room, he could see some bright spots. The souls of other people in the room. Most seemed distracted and unaffected by the man lying on one of the beds. Castiel couldn't sweep his hand out to touch Dean, to bring him comfort – there was a wall between them that allowed him to look, but not touch. He had to find someone. _Where is Sam? Why isn't Sam there?_ His grace swept outwards again and then it almost seemed to get caught on something. Someone could tell he was there – or that something was there – and that he was trying to help the man lying supine on a bed looking deathly pale. He gently nudged against the soul. It was the youngest person in the room – a nine year old girl. 

_Please. Please._ Castiel didn't know how or what else to say. He knew that he this wasn't forbidden, this was something that couldn't be prevented. Dean's soul had screamed for him and his grace, bound to him, had naturally reacted. It was like breathing. Please. He nudged the girl's soul again. Please. He felt the girl slowly turn in response to his plea and then, slowly, agonizingly so, the panic and fear in Dean began to abate. 

_Thank you._ Castiel was able to manage before he came back to himself, lying on the cool marble floor of his prison, the echo of Dean's cry still clinging desperately to him. When he could focus a little more clearly, he could make out a glass sitting on the table above him filled with a bright amber liquid. Someone had come into the room and left him a glass full of nectar and offered no comfort otherwise. Castiel turned his gaze back to the floor and tried to relax a little more before attempting to rise from his prone position. “What is happening to you, Dean?” 

*

“The first one's always the worst.” The girl's voice was thin but it made Dean open his eyes. 

“Huh?” He blinked once or twice at the girl in pale pink scrubs whose head was covered by a brightly colored bandanna.

“The first time they do that... the lumbar puncture thing. The first one's always the worst.” She shot a look at the nurse behind Dean, who was slowly drawing fluid from his spine with a needle that would make a whale cry uncle. 

“Take your word for it.” He gave the girl a tiny smile and hissed in pain. 

“Almost done here, Mr. Winchester,” the nurse said. “How are you feeling today, Izzy?”

“My breakfast stayed down, Leslie,” the girl answered, addressing the woman by her first name. “Any day that happens is a good day.” The girl turned her attention back to Dean. “Leslie is really nice.” She beamed at him. “She's always got Life Savers in her pockets.”

Dean let out another breath as he felt the small pinch of the needle being removed. It reminded him of the more unusual tortures Alistair had put him through in Hell. He just hoped that would be his only flashback. The girl sitting in the chair next to the bed couldn't be much older than Holly. She was sallow faced but smiling. A full IV bag of what Dean guessed was blood or plasma or something hung from a pole, and the tube leading from the bag was connected to the girl's arm. “Aren't you a little young to be hanging out on in this ward by yourself?”

“I'm old hat around here, new boy.” She grinned, showing a couple of missing teeth. “I just came down for my weekly transfusion and then they'll cart me back up to the peds ward.”

“Now I'm going to need you to lie here just like this for a few hours, Mr. Winchester.” The nurse adjusted the blanket over Dean, setting a pillow behind his back. “We'll come and check on you in a little bit.”

“Thanks.” His eyes followed the nurse out of the room and then returned to the girl. “Parents working?”

“Yeah.” Izzy shifted in her chair. “I'm climbing my way up from round four of chemo... again.”

“Again?” Dean was incredulous. This girl was way too young to have been through chemo twice.

“I was a toddler the first time.” She sighed. “The great thing is, my tests are all coming back with positive news, so with a lot of luck, I'll get to go home by Halloween.”

“How old are you?” 

“I'm nine. I'll be ten in January.” 

Dean was finding the conversation welcome. It kept his mind from going back into the nightmare of Hell. “You know how old I'm going to be in January?”

“Um...” She studied him for a moment. “Thirty-five?”

He let out a chuckle that turned to a cough. “No, I'll be forty-six.” 

“That's how old my dad is!” Izzy gave him a bright smile. “He's gonna come by later and we're going to have lunch.” She paused. “Is your dad going to come and see you?”

“No, he's not.” Dean closed his eyes tiredly. “My mom and dad are... well – ”

“It's okay, you can say the word _dead_ to me. I know how it works.”

He gave her a wary look. “Are you always this cocky, kid?”

“When I don't need my pain meds, yes. And my name's _Izzy_ not _kid_.”

“All right then, _Izzy_ , you can keep talking.” He let out a breath. “Though I can't promise I'll stay awake.”

“That's okay.” The girl smiled knowingly. “Sleep is a good thing.”

Dean half closed his eyes. “Izzy, huh? Is that short for Elizabeth or Isabelle?”

“You were close, it's Isabella. My mom always says that when I was a baby, she had to keep telling people I was named after my grandmother and not some book character named Bella Swan. Whoever the heck that is.” She rubbed the arm attached to the IV. “Do I call you Mr. Winchester like Leslie does?”

“No, you can call me Dean.” He was starting to feel that sleep was a better and better idea. 

**

The nectar helped. Castiel had managed to pull himself up to a sit and drink from the glass after what he guessed might have been a few hours. He drank slowly, eying the pitcher that had also been left on the table. He figured that someone predicted whatever happened might happen again and it would save them a trip. Castiel wasn't worried about the liquid going bad or evaporating. The nectar from the Garden was one of the most potent substances known to angels and while it provided sustenance for fledglings, for older angels it was considered a cross between medicine and comfort food. He shakily changed to a new book in the player and started going through the papers he'd been looking at before the attack. 

_“Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith. Read for you by Emily Bronte.”_

Castiel smiled faintly as he got back to work. He remembered this story from his last trip to Earth. He'd seen the book sitting on Dean's nightstand. He had a feeling that the former hunter had been reading it for the zombies, rather than the supposed love story it was based on. 

**

Sam pulled into the salvage yard two weeks before Halloween, hating the fact that it'd taken him this long to get away. First things got crazy at work, then it was back to school time and before he knew it, the calendar flipped over to October and Sam realized he needed to tell his boss to eat shit and take the time off he was due. Apparently, the boss had been woefully unobservant and had failed to notice that one of his best employees was going through hell; as soon as he found out, the man went a hundred and eighty degrees from grade-a asshole to 'let me kiss your ass anyway I can'. It was already cold in South Dakota, reminding Sam that winter showed up here a month, sometimes two, before it did in Missouri. He actually would have come sooner, but unfortunately when both Holly and Danny came down with their usual change of season colds, he'd been forced to wait to get a clean bill of health before traveling. Even if he wasn't sick, the fact that he was a carrier and was going into a house whose sole occupant had a weakened immune system was out of the question. Minor cancer or not, Dean couldn't afford to get sick.

He let himself into the house, shutting the door behind him. “Dean? You awake?”

“In the library, Sammy.” Dean called, coughing once. 

Sam rounded the corner and did a double take. The man sitting in the easy chair didn't resemble his brother very much. His hair was gone, his head covered with a dark blue beanie hat that had skulls and crossbones knitted in the pattern, and he looked at least fifty pounds lighter. A blanket was covering his legs and just looking at the table next to the chair Sam couldn't fathom how his brother managed to take that many pills in just one day. “Hey.” He came over and gave him a hug, noting that there wasn't much strength in the one he got from his brother in return. “How you feeling today?”

“Like shit.” Dean put the TV on mute as Sam sat down on the couch, putting his bag down as well. “How was the drive?”

“Not bad.” Sam couldn't help cataloging all the changes he saw in his brother. It was like looking at half a Dean at this point. “There's no snow in the forecast, is there?”

“Not until next week.” Dean coughed again and shifted in his chair. “It looks worse than it is, Sam.” He knew what his brother was thinking. “Doc's says I'm doing a good job of kicking this thing's ass.”

“That's great.” Sam smiled. “Guess you're going to need someone to come up and get you for Thanksgiving?”

“If I'm feeling up to traveling that week, yeah.” Dean picked up his water glass and took a long drink. “Hate not being able to drive.”

“I know you do.” Sam opened his bag and drew out two sheets of paper. “The kids sent you these.” 

Dean took the offered papers and smiled. “See Danny's hit the superhero phase.” He looked up from the drawing of what he guessed was Superman, Batman and Wolverine all waving with 'Get Well Soon Uncle D' scrawled across the top in crayon.

“Yeah.” Sam chuckled. “The two of them miss you.”

“Miss 'em too.” He turned Daniel's art over to look at Holly's picture of a bunch of teddy bears and flowers. “Hols learned cursive, huh?”

Sam grinned. “She's really proud of that. She keeps asking when you're coming to visit.”

“Soon as I'm up to it and the doctors say I can.” Dean set the pictures down on the coffee table. “Have to put those up later.” 

“You think you'll be up to coming down to Blue Springs for Christmas?” Sam stood up, took Dean's empty water glass into the kitchen and refilled it.

“Thanks.” He took the glass from his brother and drank. “I'm not sure. If I'm well enough, they're going to administer round four of chemo at the start of December, and given that I just finished round two and I feel shredded, I've no idea if I can make it.”

Sam leaned against his knees, thinking. “I don't want you spending the holiday alone.”

“You're not leaving Gina and the kids, Sammy, so don't even think about it.”

“I was thinking maybe we could come up here,” he rubbed his chin, “Weather permitting and all.”

“Sam, I could still be in the hospital come Christmas. I don't want you...”

“Oh, shut up Dean! This isn't about what's best for me and my family, it's about what's best for you.”

“Sam...” Dean didn't have the strength to put up much of an argument, but he was going to try.

“You spent years taking care of me, Dean. It's time I took care of you for a while. You may not like it, but you're stuck with me.” He let out a breath. “Jerk.”

Dean snorted. “Bitch.” He took another sip of water. “Reminds me. Doctors say that once I'm in remission, since I live alone, I'm going to have to get a service dog, in case anything happens.”

“Really?” Sam went into the kitchen and got his own glass of water. “Don't think I can picture you letting a dog into this house.”

“I let you in.” Dean chuckled, a grin forming on his pallid face. “And I don't even make you wipe your feet.”

*

Sam leaned against the threshold of the first floor bedroom, which, until recently, had been used for storage. With Dean was lying down and sleeping Sam could finally get a good look at just how sick his big brother had gotten. If he had any fat, it was long gone and so was most of his muscle. His freckles stood out in sharp contrast on his face and Sam had to admit that if it wasn't so serious, his brother would look comical with no eyebrows. There were only a few things that Dean insisted he wanted in the room he was now going to have to sleep in until he was well. Two framed puzzles, one of Mount Hood and the other of Notre Dame Cathedral adorned one wall; on another wall were three framed pictures that Sam knew Liam had drawn. On the bedside table were two thick scrapbooks stuffed with even more artwork done by a child who had not been in this house in over ten years. 

Sam sighed softly and went back to the library, automatically cleaning things up like he would at any other time. He also knew the only reason that Dean didn't have a nurse living with him was because there was too much hidden in the house and too much that required explanation. He did the laundry and, after checking the list on the fridge, tried to think of something he could cook for dinner, if his brother felt up to eating. Not for the first time since this started, Sam's eyes drifted heaven-ward and silently asked why the fuck Castiel couldn't get a temporary pass from Heaven's prison and come down and at least get to visit his brother. 

**

Dean kept track of time in the hospital by the patterns of the nurses' scrubs. When he'd arrived for round three of chemotherapy, the scrubs tended to have harvest-like items such as cornucopias. Now they'd turned from Thanksgiving to winter holiday themes. Candy canes and snowflakes seemed to be the big favorite, along with Christmas Trees and bells. There was even one nurse who had a Hanukkah pattern with Stars of David and menorahs. Round four of chemo swiftly followed round three, taking advantage of the fact that for once, infections had staved off and Dean hadn't needed to wait and recuperate from some stupid cold turned pneumonia before starting. Not getting out of Sioux Falls for Thanksgiving had sucked. The stupid 'avoid germs' rule kept coming along and fucking up the holiday plans. 

Now it was Christmas Eve and he was stuck in the hospital. Round four had taken a lot more out of Dean than he thought it would. He'd been too sick and too tired to put up an argument with Sam about coming up to Sioux Falls for the holiday. He wasn't even home and really, he thought it was unfair to the kids. Sam, being Sam, told Dean to shut the hell up and that there was no way of getting out of it. He was feeling somewhat better, and the doctors were talking of letting him go in the first week of January. 

“Knock knock.” Sam stuck his head into Dean's room. “Dean, you awake?”

“Yeah.” He looked wanly up from his dinner. “Don't make me finish this stuff, Sam. It tastes terrible.”

Sam set the bag he was carrying down on the foot of the bed and took a look at what was on his brother's tray. “What did they do to those potatoes?”

“Those aren't potatoes, I don't think they ever were potatoes, even if that's what they're calling them.” Dean poked his food one more time and set his fork down. “What are you doing here anyway? Thought I told you to stay at the house and do, I dunno, Christmas stuff.”

Sam sat down and gave his brother a small grin. “Now don't start with that, young man. Gina and the kids are having a Pixar Marathon as we speak. I'm willing to bet Danny will be out by the middle of _Toy Story_ and Holly will be out by the end of _Monsters Inc.”_

“You find the ornaments for the tree?” Dean settled against his pillows, too tired to sit up for much longer.

“Yeah. Right where you said they were.” He glanced at his watch. “You never told me you decorated a tree every year.”

“Hey, just because I live alone doesn't mean I don't like things to look festive this time of the year.” He glanced down at the bag and then at his brother. “You expecting something?”

“As a matter of fact – ” Sam stood and took the tray off of the stand and put it on the table next to the chair, “I am.” He opened the bag and pulled out his laptop. “You know, the Internet has come a very long way in the last ten years, Dean.”

“I know that, Sammy. What's this?” He watched as his brother set the laptop on the tray and after a few moments, found himself watching crowds file in at Holy Spirit Church. “What'd you do?”

“Talked to Pastor Barrie. Did you know it's insanely easy to live stream performances these days?” Sam grinned as he adjusted the volume, and a moment later, saw a spark of joy in his brother's green eyes as they heard the choir start their pre-service concert with 'It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.' 

“That's – that's great, Sammy.” Dean closed his eyes, unable to keep the tears from forming. “That's perfect, actually.”

“Well, I know how you've been saying you hate missing going to hear the choir sing.” Sam gently clasped his brother's shoulder. “I think you've been to church more in the past ten years then dad and I have been our whole lives combined. Still can't get over you going in the first place.”

Dean set a hand on the tray, taking a few shallow breaths. “I go to listen to the choir, Sammy, I told you that.”

“Still, you go.” Sam brushed his brother's forehead with his thumb. “And here I thought you'd listen to nothing except mullet rock.” 

Dean slowly opened his eyes, now wet with tears. “Liam likes the choir music.” He choked a little on his son's name. “Every time I go... just for an hour... it's like spending time with him again.”

Sam slid onto the bed and pulled his brother into a hug as he began to cry. It pained and scared him to see his big brother look like this. It was more than just the physical pain that was plaguing him, after ten long years, the separation had finally managed to work its way into Dean's armor and he was starting to crack.

Dean whimpered as his body was wracked with a sob. “One night's all I need, Sammy. Why can't I have just one night?”

Sam held his brother as tight as he dared; Dean was so thin, he was scared he would accidentally snap a bone. He rested his head against his brother's, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I don't know, Dean. I really don't know.” 

**

Liam tried to think what he could have done to receive a summons from Gabriel. He was used to being called in by his superiors, which was almost a daily occurrence. Getting called in by the high commander of your legion? Not so much. He hadn't been to see Gabriel since shortly after the archangel's return when he'd insisted on talking to all the new angels in the group. He shifted nervously in his seat as he watched Gabriel look over a document, a frown marring his face. 

“I'd forgotten how much damn paperwork there was to do up here.” Gabriel shook his head and reached into the large dish of brightly colored candy that was sitting in the middle of his desk. “You like chocolate?”

“I – I guess so.” Liam couldn't remember if he'd ever had chocolate. 

“Try some.” Gabriel nudged the bowl towards him. 

The younger angel reached out and took a small piece that was a lurid shade of blue. He put it in his mouth, frowning at the taste. There was something more than chocolate in the candy, something he couldn't quite place. 

“Peanut butter, kiddo.” Gabriel smiled, folding his arms and looking over at Liam. “Only time I like it is when it's with chocolate.”

“Oh.” Liam swallowed. “It's – not bad.”

“Acquired taste, to be certain.” Gabriel leaned back in his seat, observing the young angel on the other side of the desk. Liam was one of twenty-four Nephilim currently calling Heaven home. He and the others were so far removed from the first ones that it was hard to believe they were, more or less, the same sort of creatures. Growing up in Heaven had given them the balance and the environment they needed. They could never have thrived on Earth. The one he was studying, however, interested him more than all the others. The eyes were the dead giveaway to him. He'd know those green eyes anywhere. He wasn't sure how Dean Winchester and Castiel got together officially – truth be told, he didn't want to know. He just knew they had. “You haven't had any more panic attacks like you did several weeks ago, have you?”

“No sir.” Liam replied stiffly. His head had hurt from time to time, however it hadn't interfered with his work.

“Good, that's good.” Gabriel shifted some papers on his desk. “I see that you've shown remarkable fighting skills in your garrison. You know that's not a big priority for this legion, yes?”

“Yes, sir, I am aware of that.” Liam swallowed nervously. “I just thought...”

“Oh, there's nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong at all.” Gabriel sighed. “Do you know how old you are in human years?”

He thought for a moment. “Somewhere between fifteen and sixteen years, I think. I've not seen an earthly calendar lately.”

“Today...” Gabriel leaned over on his desk to pick up a small object Liam couldn't identify, “is January twenty-fourth, two thousand twenty five.” He set the calendar back down, picked up the candy bowl and leaned back in his chair. “I've been talking it over with Jeremiah and Joshua, and we feel the time has come for us to start a more – intense study of mankind.” Gabriel dug through the candy until he found a yellow piece and tossed it into his mouth. “We can't begin to help man until we better understand him.”

Liam nodded slightly. “Books can only tell us so much.” 

“Figured you were a reader. You have that look about you.” The archangel munched on another piece of candy. “Michael and I have discussed it and we are currently working out a way to... how shall I put this?” He tapped the side of the bowl. “Form a lesson plan to educate a select group of angels to spend time on Earth and report back the findings.”

“I see.” Liam frowned. “How can I help with that, sir?”

“Since Raphael's currently under guard for – well, various reasons – the temporary leader of his group, Daphne, has suggested that we form teams of three, one from each legion. You're one of the first ones I've selected from ours.”

The young angel's eyes widened in surprise. “Are – are you sure?”

“Positive. I know from your superiors that you are hard working, diligent, mostly obedient, have a decent amount of curiosity – something that will be beneficial in this task and according to many others, have the best sense of humor in your garrison.”

Liam didn't quite know how to take the complement. “The elephant joke wasn't that funny. Besides, I didn't even make it up.”

“It was still clever.” Gabriel sat up and set the candy bowl down closer to the lesser angel. “Preparing for this is going to take a lot of planning and a lot of studying.” He sorted through some papers and handed Liam one. “You still have to do the rest of your expected work until we start the intense training.” 

Liam took the paper and frowned at the list. “What is this?”

“Those are the books that Michael, Daphne and I all feel need to be read by the angels chosen for this group. We're still working on the rest of the requirements; music that you'll need to listen to, movies you'll have to watch, things like that. That list is also liable to change at any time, so don't slack off on me, okay kiddo?”

“Yes, sir.” Liam tucked the sheet of paper into his pocket. “I understand.”

“Have another piece of candy and be off. I'm sure you have plenty of things to do.” Gabriel gave the boy an encouraging smile as he reached into the bowl and selected a candy that was bright red. 

Liam placed the sweet in his mouth and the taste of cinnamon nearly overwhelmed him. “That's good.” He said, gasping a little. “What in...” He caught another taste and realized why the candy was so hot. “Ghost chili pepper?”

“Good, yes?” Gabriel was grinning.

“Perfect.” Liam stood up and walked out of the archangel's office, enjoying the sweet despite its fiery flavor. 

**

Remission was a weird word, in Dean's opinion. He wasn't suffering from his disease but yet he was still sick. He knew that what he had wasn't curable; chemo had just added a few more years to his life. The form of cancer he'd contracted had left him with a weakened immune system and he was also left vulnerable to other forms of cancer as well. So he'd have to stay on his diet regimen, take good care of himself and, most importantly, not procrastinate if he thought something might be wrong. His appetite had returned and he was able to regain most but not all of the weight chemo had drained from him. He figured it was a very good thing he'd retired from hunting, because he knew that he would never get back into the physical shape he'd been in a year ago. He was bothered by the fact he still moved slowly from time to time (weather was a big factor there). Though he would have to say that more than anything, it was wonderful to be home.

The service dog he'd been required to get came in the form of a two year old German Shepherd named Scully. It was more due to his limited mobility that the doctors had insisted he get the dog, and quite frankly, he found the dog's company more of a help than any actual work she did. She still did work, mainly helping Dean up and down the stairs, but most of the time, she was the constant companion the former hunter didn't realize he'd needed. 

Dean let out a low grunt as glared at the work to be done on the engine of the seventy-five Impala he was currently restoring. The thing wasn't a total mess, but unfortunately, with the way he was moving, it'd still take him a few months to restore it, whereas a year ago, it'd have taken him just a couple of weeks. The dog was lying a few feet away, watching him carefully. “Don't suppose you know anything about engines, do you?” The dog merely blinked, resting her head on her front paws. “Hand me that wrench over there.” He pointed to the tool he needed.

Scully stood up and padded over to the toolbox, picked up the requested item and brought it to Dean, pulling herself up by the car's bumper so Dean wouldn't have to bend so far. 

Dean took the tool and gave the dog a rub behind the ears. “Thank you.” He pushed gently on her back. “Down.” The dog promptly resumed her seat on the blanket she'd been resting on. “You keep this good work up girl, I'll put your name on the business instead of mine.”


	7. Chapter 7

When Dean first came into this room, the tree outside his window had been a lush green color and the rosebushes that were peeking out from the bottom of the sill were in full bloom. Now the flowers were sad and drooping and the leaves were rimmed in red. He had entered this room, rather ironically, on what should have been his youngest brother's forty-second birthday. It was now the middle of October. Strange how much the world outside could change in just two weeks. Even here, in Missouri, the seasons were changing alarmingly fast. He shifted his position on the bed, which let him see outside the window more. The church on the other side of the road was preparing for an Oktoberfest and the music and smells of good food had been drifting up towards this place all day. He smiled wanly at the sight, wishing the nurses in this hospice would let him go outside. Something about infections and spread of disease or other such bullshit was keeping him indoors. If he was in a damn hospice, why would he worry about getting _sick?_ Everyone here was already terminally ill and an hour of sunshine wasn't exactly going to prove fatal. Well, maybe it could, but fresh air was always a morale booster. 

Dean had managed to stay in remission for exactly five years and five months before his cancer returned with a vengeance. 

The first time he'd gone in for his chemotherapy sessions, seven years ago, he'd managed to stave off infection and illnesses between rounds. This time however, his luck ran out. Pneumonia combined with anemia, and then there was that nasty flu outbreak in Sioux Falls that started the whole processes of driving him to this place. The leukemia had left him vulnerable to other types of cancer, he knew that. Then, in a true form of the universe deciding to fuck Dean Winchester over one last time, he developed lung cancer. He'd not had a cigarette since he was seventeen and in high school. One cigarette in his entire life and he managed to get _lung_ cancer. The doctors tried to tell him something about his line of work or some kind of bullshit like that. Dean was willing to bet not one of them could change a tire without detailed illustrated directions and someone assuring them every step of the way. 

He sighed, coughing slightly as he did so. He had left the house in Sioux Falls under the good care of the Fitzpatricks. Tim had retired from the Marines and with his mechanic background, could easily pick up the job left behind in the Singer Salvage Yard. The collection of books that had been Bobby's prize possession were no longer there. No hunter had called asking for information about a monster in six years. Nowadays, all hunts seemed to be vengeful spirits and demons. Deciding what to do with all those books had been next to impossible for the two Winchester brothers. Selling or donating them seemed wrong and not just because there was always the chance of them being needed again. In the end, Sam had converted a room in his house into a library for the books. 

Dean hadn't been to Sam's house since he'd come to Missouri from Sioux Falls in the middle of August. He'd spent a lot of time in the hospital, choosing to be down here rather than up in South Dakota. After five weeks of being there, the doctors pretty much said the cancer had gotten too strong of a hold and while they could put Dean through chemotherapy again, he probably wouldn't make it past stage three. So here he was, supposedly made 'comfortable' and left to die. Well, maybe not completely left, but medication to make him healthy had been replaced with pain killers. He missed the outdoors, he missed seeing his family and he even missed his dog. Scully wasn't allowed to visit him in this place. Nothing here made sense half the time. 

He lay back down, resting his hand on his chest, settling against the pillows. “Hey, Sam.”

Sam chuckled from the doorway. “How'd you know it was me?” 

“Nurses just finished with dinner. You always stop by on your way home from work and you're usually here right after dinner's over.” Dean slowly turned his head, smiling wanly. “Don't suppose you smuggled in a big ass pretzel from the fair across the street, did you?”

“Sorry.” Sam sighed and sat down in the same chair he'd sat in almost every day for the past three weeks. “I'll bring you one tomorrow.” He smiled half-heartedly. “With or without salt?”

“Now there's a stupid question.” Dean snorted, coughing again. “How was your day?”

“Long.” He rubbed his temple. “I remember all the times you told me this normal life thing sucked. Not all of it's bad – however meeting after meeting over crap I already know sucks.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirttail. “Now about next week – ”

“Sam, we discussed this already. That play is important to Holly, even though she's tried to pass it off as unimportant because she's got a small part.”

“Dean.”

 _“Sam.”_ Dean put as much authority as he could into his voice, which these days, admittedly, wasn't much. “It's her first high school performance. Minor role or major, the damn thing plays three nights along with a matinée on Sunday. If you don't go to at least one of them, you'll be kicking yourself for not being there.” Dean closed his eyes, taking in a few breaths. “Remember how pissed you were at Dad for missing all those soccer games?” 

Sam put his glasses back on and leaned back in his seat. “He had his reasons.”

Dean snorted. “Now you're starting to sound like me. Seriously, Sam – I want you to go to that play and there's no point in arguing the point further. I'll get Danny to hide your keys if I have to.”

“You're impossible, you know that?” He rubbed his temple.

“Too late to change now.” Dean chuckled weakly. “How's m' dog?”

“Scully?” Sam shook his head. “She misses you a lot. I'm thinking I may have to smuggle her in here in a few days.”

“She's a service dog, she should be allowed in here.” Dean folded his arms, looking somewhat petulant. “So what if the person she's supposed to be helping is stuck in bed?”

“Yeah, about that. I've been thinking of taking you home with me sometime soon, Dean. I don't like you being here alone.”

“I'd be alone in your house too, Sam. You and Gina both work and the kids are in school all day. Enough kids in our family have come home or woken up to find someone dead in a house already, I'm not adding my corpse to the statistic list.”

“ _Dean.”_ Sam sat up, his face stern. “It won't be like that. I've got enough sick time – ”

“Sam, just... just let it go. I'm fine here. Food sucks, but I'm almost past the point of caring.”

“You're just giving – ”

“I'm not giving up Sam. It's not giving up if there's no chance of recovery. You know as well as I do that I am just living on borrowed time.” Dean hated to be that blunt about it, however it was true.

“I want to take you home, Dean. Remember when I told you it was time for me to take care of you? This is part of that.” He watched as his older brother's eyes closed and he made a face like he was in pain. Arguing with Dean was rather one-sided these days, his brother couldn't put up much of a fight. 

“Not just yet.” Dean took a few low breaths. “'Nother week or so. Wait until Holly's play is over.”

Sam frowned, trying not to think about how fast November second was approaching. That day was already dark enough in the family's history. “Week after next, Dean, you're coming home. I'll have your room all ready and waiting.” He grinned. “I'll even make sure there's pie after dinner.”

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “Need a nap.” 

“Oh, so they're called naps now?” Sam managed a grin. 

“Naps are for people under seven and over fifty.”

“Makes sense; one's your physical age and the other is your mental one.”

“If I had the physical age of a seven year old, I wouldn't be lying here.” Dean turned to give Sam a look, a hint of mischief still apparent in his green eyes. “I'd be halfway down the hall and out the door before you even stood up, old man.”

Sam chuckled. “You're barefooted Dean, no way are you going outside without shoes.”

“I'm wearing socks.” He coughed again. “You going to bring Danny with you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow's Thursday. Of course I am.” Sam stood up and came over to brush his thumb against Dean's forehead. “You get some rest. After I get you out of here, you think you could last for a trip up to Atchison?”

“Atchison?” Dean blinked tiredly. “It'd be nice to sit out on that front porch one last time. Great, now I'm all – ”

Sam kissed his brother's forehead. “You're allowed. I'll see you tomorrow, Dean.”

“Fine, bitch.” He narrowed his eyes a little. “Don't forget that pretzel.”

“I won't, jerk.” Sam grinned. “G'nite Dean.”

“'Night Sammy,” Dean replied as his brother pulled his blankets up to his shoulders, tucking him in comfortably. He was already asleep when Sam pulled his jacket on and walked out of the room.

**

Holly honestly wondered if Scully moved at all during the day. The dog had taken up residence on the rug in the front hallway, not seeming to care she was in the way half the time. She'd move when nudged, but usually just to another place where she could keep her gaze on the front door, head resting on her front paws. She didn't want attention or affection, she didn't even beg for food. All she would do in terms of motion was get up and find someone when she needed to be let outside. The dog was miserable and Holly was willing to bet it was going to stay that way. Uncle Keith had tried to take the dog home with him, but Scully refused to get into his truck and no one had seemed keen on trying to tackle a hundred and twenty pound animal who'd established herself as the single most stubborn Winchester. She crouched down on the rug to give her a rub behind the ears; sadly, just like every other time Holly did it, the dog didn't respond.

“She need to go outside?” a voice called from the kitchen.

“No, mom.” Holly stood up and went into the other room to wash her hands. “Where's Danny?”

“He's got a group project for school, so he's over at Nick's house.” Gina looked up from the gravy she was stirring. “How was practice today?”

“Not bad.” She leaned against the counter, watching her mom. “We had our first run through with lights and everything.”

“Something wrong, Hols?” Gina picked up the pepper grinder.

“Mom, it's not like I don't know what's wrong with Uncle D, so why does everyone keep avoiding the subject?”

“Because it upsets your father, young lady.” She cranked the mill a few times before putting it back down. 

“I think the one it's upsetting the most is that dog.” Holly folded her arms, shifting her gaze to her feet. “Are – we're going to keep her, right?”

“I don't think so, sweetie. Scully's not happy here.” She stirred the gravy she was cooking. “She'll be happier up at Sean and Bethany's over in Leavenworth. They're better equipped to take care of her.”

Holly couldn't entirely doubt that, but why then, was the dog still here? And as for not talking about the fact that Uncle Dean was _dying,_ it was just the same as denying something anything was wrong. She still hadn't mentioned it to either of her parents that she was spending her study hall talking to the school counselor. “Why don't the hospice people let us bring the dog for a visit?”

“It's in their rules.” Gina sighed. “Honey, would you set the table please?”

“Sure.” She turned to the cupboard and got out the plates. “Is Danny going to be home for dinner?”

“No, he's going to eat at his friend's house.” She didn't turn around as Holly set the table and the door to the garage opened. 

“I'm home!” Sam called from the laundry room.

“Hi, Dad.” Holly replied as Sam came into the kitchen.

“Sam.” Gina said, turning from the stove as he came over and hugged her. “How was your day?”

“Not bad. Dean's looking a little better.” 

Holly quickly hid her expression to that statement and went to get the cutlery. “That's good, Dad.”

Sam wasn't fooled, although honestly, he was too tired to bring it up. “How was school today?”

“Fine.” She got the basket of napkins off the counter and went to get the hot pads. “I think my English teacher has an unhealthy addiction to making us memorize things, but other than that, not bad at all.”

“What are you supposed to be memorizing now?” Sam went over and washed his hands before getting out a bag of salad. 

“Prepositions.” She shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn't be annoying if I didn't already know all of them.” 

“Well, try and be patient with her, half those kids in your class didn't spend their childhoods with their noses planted in the middle of a book like you did.”He started to divide up the salad mix.

“I didn't spend _all_ my time reading!” Holly said, half embarrassed, half proud.

“Just – humor your teacher. She can't be _that_ bad,” Sam said, setting the bowls on the table. 

“Can't be worse than the witch I had for a math teacher senior year of college.” Gina shook her head. “Honestly, she treated you like an idiot if you had the nerve to get a problem wrong.” She gave the gravy one last stir. “Sam, could you get the chicken out of the oven, please?”

“Sure. Danny still at Nick's house?” He grabbed some oven mitts.

“Uh huh.” Holly answered as her mom poured the potatoes and gravy into serving bowls and she went to get dressing from the fridge. “Dad, you want Blue Cheese or Italian?”

“Blue Cheese, Hols. Thanks.” 

Holly pulled the bottle out of the door, along with the raspberry vinaigrette she and her mom almost always had with their salads. She returned to the table, also carrying the butter dish and set all three items down and then slid into her chair. Her parents might be skirting around the elephant in the house, though by just looking at her dad she knew that the worry of what was happening to Uncle D was getting to him more than he was letting on. 

**

The hallways smelled of a combination of Lysol and strong coffee. Some of the rooms kept their doors shut and others were wide open, looking oddly inviting and intrusive at the same time. Hospitals were like that sometimes; the rooms of some patients kept shut to hide and protect those inside and other times leaving the occupants exposed to the rest of the world, as if their privacy was no longer important. The room at the end of one of the corridors was open, its occupant dozing lightly, his breathing uneven in depth yet steady nonetheless. Long ingrained instincts told Dean he wasn't alone in the room any longer and he figured it had to be some new light-footed nurse or something. The hex bag under his pillow was keeping him hidden from any demons that might be in the area and he resolved to just remain asleep while the nurse did whatever checks she was doing. Then again, it could be something else entirely. Dean told himself if he opened his eyes right now and saw the reaper known as Tessa standing by his bed, he was going to die laughing.

“My name isn't Tessa.” There was a soft thud, like a chair had been picked up and set down closer to the bed. 

Dean felt a pair of hands take hold of one of his and he slowly opened his eyes. Sitting next to his bed was a young man who looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. He was wearing a white linen shirt that seemed to have a faint hint of silver to it. His hair was black and a bit long, with a slight curl and his features were rather classical looking with a very kind smile. Dean was certain he should know this person and then he caught the young man's eyes. His very _green_ eyes. “Liam?” His voice was raspy.

The angel smiled in response. “Hi, Dad.” Tears were pricking the corners of his eyes. “Sorry it took me so long to get here.”

Dean hadn't been expecting this. Never, _never_ did he think that such a thing would happen, after what Castiel had told him about fledglings and their parents. “How? What...”

Liam leaned over and kissed his dad's forehead. “I missed you too.”

“Yeah.” Dean couldn't stop staring at his son. “You got big.” 

Liam pressed Dean's hand against his cheek and just held it there. “You got skinny.”

Dean let out a snort that ended in a cough. “And you turned into a smart-ass.” He smiled. “What, you on spring break or something?”

“Well, most of the other angels in my garrison are off having a 'how to acquire a vessel' lecture.” He smiled. “I don't need to learn how to do that. So here I am.”

Dean uncurled his hand and pressed his palm against his boy's face, tears slipping down his cheeks. “No, guess you don't.” He smiled a little more certainly. “If I had known you were coming, I'd have made sure Sam brought me some Oreos.”

Liam let out a soft chuckle. “It's okay, Dad. Somehow, I don't think they'd taste the same as they used to.”

Dean nodded faintly and closed his eyes for a moment. “You're going to be here for a while, aren't you?”

Liam returned to holding his dad's hand in both of his. “A few days, I think.” 

“It was always just a few days.” Dean couldn't keep the petulance out of his voice. “I know I shouldn't have been picky but...”

“It sucked,” Liam finished. “Out loud.”

Dean chuckled weakly and then blinked balefully at his boy. “It did at that.” He coughed again. “I hate being sick.”

“I know, Dad.” Liam squeezed his hand gently. “Can you do something for me?”

“Course, Liam.” Dean opened his eyes, even though keeping them open was starting to seem like quite the effort. “What is it?”

“When you see him, tell Papa that I remember him too. I remember both of you.” He bit at his lip, trying to keep his emotions in check as tears slipped down his cheeks. “I'm going to come and see you when I can. Unfortunately it might not be for a while.”

“Angel time or human time?” Dean managed a weak smile.

“He'll know what I mean.” He reached up and gently brushed his thumb against his dad's forehead, smiling slightly. “You don't have to keep holding on just because I'm here, Dad. I'll see you again before you know it.”

Dean tried to issue a retort, although honestly, he was just too tired to do it. He blinked again, smiling. “You grew up nice.”

“Still would have rather gotten to stay in Sioux Falls a few years.” Liam was aware he was biting his lip again. “Or at least come visit every now and then.”

“Wish you could have visited too.” He let out a breath. “What time is it?”

“Three-fifteen, I think.” Liam moved so that he was sitting on the bed, still holding Dean's hand, smiling faintly. “It's time to go home, Dad.”

“You coming with me?” Dean closed his eyes.

“Told you I had to stay a few days. Think there's some people I have to meet.” His smile strengthened. “Gran already warned me about what a pistol Holly is, so don't worry.”

“Sam'll give you Oreos.” Dean let out a breath. “Always was... good kid.” 

“Ssh...” Liam brushed his thumb over the top of his father's hand as he felt his pulse slow and then stop as his soul slipped free from his body. He leaned over and kissed his forehead again. “I'll see you soon.”

*

It happened so abruptly, Castiel was almost knocked flat. One moment he'd been putting the last of the folders of 1864 away and the next, he became aware of just how slow the audio book he was listening to was going. He flicked it off and then he had to catch his breath as his perception of time shifted back to that of an angel and he felt himself being pulled forward, information he'd been cut off from for seventeen years suddenly flooding his mind. Just as he finally managed to get his bearings and straighten up he heard the lock on his door snap and the door opened. He frowned as he saw Chuck – God – standing there. He straightened himself up before speaking. “Father.”

“Castiel.” Chuck came into the room and looked around, almost looking surprised at its contents. “You've done an excellent job in here.” He came into the room and gave the angel a comforting squeeze on the arm. “How much do you have left to do?”

“I have only just finished the fourth year of the war, Father.” 

“Well, I'd say you're due for a vacation.” Chuck sighed. “It's not like this war hasn't been over for almost two hundred years.” 

“Vacation?” Castiel was confused. “I thought I was to remain...”

“Yeah. Say, couple of years – seven of them or so. Then you can come back, finish up and we can start talking about reassignment. Or you can come back during those years, do a little here, a little there. It shouldn't take you very long to complete this task.” Chuck picked up one of the journals, flipping through it, a sad look crossing his face. “When are they ever going to learn that I never take sides in a war?”

“I don't think they ever will, Father. This is probably due to the fact that nearly all humans hate to admit to being wrong.”

“How very astute of you, Castiel.” Chuck shut the book. “Well, off you go then.”

“Off I go where?” Confusion was starting to set in. Why was he being released after just seventeen years? That was just two years longer than the minimum. He had been certain he was going to be here for at least twenty. 

“I think someone's waiting for you.” He smiled. “Go on, no one is going to find you unless you want them to.” 

*

Dean leaned against his knees, gazing out into the yard in front of his home. It was a warm June evening and things were just about perfect in his opinion. Liam seemed a lot more interested in catching fireflies than anything and he had to smile to himself as the boy caught one, looked at it for a moment and then let it go. “We can't stay out to much longer, it's getting late.”

“Dad.” The boy grinned. “Just ten more minutes?”

“Five,” Dean responded. “The mosquitoes will be out in full force soon and while they leave you alone, they'd have a buffet with me.”

“You're funny,” Liam replied, turning to chase after another firefly.

Dean straightened up. This wasn't entirely real. It was a memory. This was years ago, a few days before that tornado that happened when Liam and Castiel had visited him in Sioux Falls for the second to last time. 

“Some things in this place are real and some are not,” a voice said from behind Dean and he slowly turned, looking up in a state of total shock.

“Cas?” He stood up; somehow the scene in the yard was lost to his vision. 

The angel didn't speak, didn't make any attempt at responding other than to close the distance between them and draw Dean into the strongest embrace he could manage. Hugging a soul was so different when it was no longer bound to its earthly form. He could feel Dean's arms close around him, his face pressed against his neck and he could tell the man was weeping. Strange how a soul could still do that in a place where tears were supposedly banished. Just like it had back in his cell, information began pouring from the soul of the man he was holding and into his memory. Names, places, events it was all there, and all of it, the good and the bad, it was all precious to the angel. 

Dean had been ill and alone and in his tears had cried out for him. 

Dean didn't want to let go, he didn't think he could let go. His hand slid up into Castiel's hair, whimpering at the utter relief and contentment flooding through him right now. It was lame. He knew that he was crying like a girl right now and...

“I don't care,” Castiel whispered against Dean's ear, kissing his temple. “I don't care if you have to stand here and cry for a whole decade. In fact, go ahead and do that if you want to, because I don't think I could let go of you for at least two years.”

Dean let out a shaky chuckle. “Well, my schedule is pretty much empty. So that sounds like a good idea.”

In response, Castiel hugged him tighter. “Still the same old sarcasm, Dean?”

“'Fraid so. You're the one who told me not to change.” Dean nuzzled against the angel's neck.

“So I did.” He kissed Dean's cheek. “So I did.”

**

Somehow, in Sam's mind, a man attending services almost once a week for ten years didn't make them a member of a parish if they hadn't officially joined that church's denomination. However, Pastor Barrie had other thoughts on the matter. Well, somehow when connected with his late brother, the good pastor had patience that rivaled Pastor Jim's had. Sam had known that Dean had done a little of his own funeral planning – although Sam didn't honestly think that religion would take part in it. Pastor Barrie told him it wasn't religion he was talking about, but faith. That and the fact that the man had done his research and years ago, in the chapel on the campus of the University of Kansas, Mary Winchester had gotten her eldest baptized by a military chaplain who was there to give a lecture. Sam, it transpired, had the honor bestowed on him by Pastor Jim at the age of eight months. If it was meant as some kind of protection, it might have worked in his brother's favor and not so in his. 

Dean was gone. 

Sam had been here before, for the span of four months when his brother went to Hell and his life had become hell, thanks to Ruby. He bit his lip. The demon's name and memory still left a foul and bitter taste in his mouth. Dean was not coming back this time. He was gone and there was nothing he could do to bring him back. His brother's requests were relatively simple in many ways. He'd requested a closed casket and he wanted to be buried in his old leather jacket. The one he'd inherited from Dad. Sam hadn't even known the thing was still around; the jacket had to be almost as old as he was. All he could really focus on was that highly polished mahogany box sitting on the altar with his brother's body locked inside it. 

Danny cast a sideways look at his dad sitting next to him, biting his lip at the expression on his face. It was scary to see how shattered his dad looked. He swallowed and looked over his shoulder at the pews that were filling up with people he'd never seen before. It wasn't just people from up in Sioux Falls, he'd met a bunch of those people at Uncle Dean's fifty-third birthday celebration back in January. These were different people. A pair of men he guessed were brothers, the oldest looked a little younger than Aunt Sally. There was a woman who looked to be close to his grandma's age, with a stern expression. Then there was a couple, the man was comforting the woman who was already crying. A dark-haired man who looked oddly calm in this building full of sadness and so many others. Some were idly flipping through a hymnal, others studying the program. He swallowed hard and turned back around as a girl sitting on one of the chairs on the altar rose from her seat, carrying a violin, and walked forward to a music stand. Daniel recognized her – it was Izzy Jacobson. A woman from the choir from up at Holy Spirit in Sioux Falls came up to the lectern, making eye contact with someone in the back and then Izzy began to play.

The 'churchy' songs that were selected for the funeral weren't so much funeral songs, but they'd been the ones Daniel knew were Uncle Dean's favorites from hearing them over the years. The one thing Dean had been adamant about was the fact that he didn't want 'Amazing Grace' played at the funeral. Daniel didn't know why and Uncle D never explained. It was weird, looking at the songs on the list for the ceremony, he didn't recognize a single one. 

When the music started, Sam had covered his face with his hand, silently thanking the fact he didn't have to deliver a eulogy, because there was no way he could get through one, not at this point, not ever. This was really happening and he wasn't dreaming. He'd been hoping it was all just one long nightmare since that phone call early Thursday morning. It was now Saturday and it was just – unthinkable. He was only vaguely aware of Gina's arms around his shoulder and his two children clasping his free hand. It didn't seem right, it wasn't fair. Dean, his big brother who'd always done everything he could for everyone; for Dad, for him, for total strangers and in the end, there was nothing any of them could do for him. His brother had been struck down at fifty-three, one year younger than Dad had been. 

Liam, who was sitting twelve rows back from his uncle and his family, slowly turned to look across the aisle at a woman who'd been crying into her husband's shoulder almost as long as she'd been sitting down. He tilted his head for a moment and recognized her as Lisa Braeden. The man was named Matt, and he was a doctor. Other than that, Liam didn't bother to glean much from the man's mind. 

As he turned his attention away and scanned the rest of the congregation, he knew who all of these people were. They weren't just family members and friends from Sioux Falls. He wasn't one to question the exact mechanics of how all this worked, even though many of them had not seen his Dad in decades, they still found their way here. These were people whom he and Uncle Samuel had saved. People mentioned in the Winchester Gospel. A man whose family had been saved from a poltergeist, a man and his brother who'd been saved from a shtriga, an old man who'd been rescued from a vengeful spirit in a prison, a woman who'd been saved from Azazel as an infant – all these and more. Some were aware of what they'd been saved from, others just knew they'd been rescued from something. 

He took a deep breath and turned his focus to the altar, where he could make out a model of a black sixty-seven Impala, a Latin-English dictionary and a shamrock green coffee mug. 

A smile pulled at the corner of the angel's mouth. He remembered that mug quite well. _“Here Dad, you need this 'cause you don't have any green mugs.”_ Liam thought of that warm two weeks in the summer of 2011; of catching fireflies, lemonade and cookies; of being in the panic room in the house in Sioux Falls while his dad held him protectively while a tornado ripped through the nearby area. Of how Papa had always made sure to leave when Dad was asleep. Papa said it was because he couldn't stand to see the pain in Dad's eyes when they had to say good-bye. It was, as he put it 'an agony the likes of which cleaves my grace in two,' and Liam had never quite understood until the last goodbye that winter morning seventeen years ago. Now he understood it again. 

The sheer pain and loss radiating off the souls in this congregation was incredible. All these people, many of whom his dad hadn't seen in decades, still feeling such misery. Liam thought that perhaps only a handful of people, himself included, had a feeling of peace. The girl who was playing the violin, she understood, and perhaps the good pastor did as well.

Holly managed to avoid weeping until near the very end of the service. There was something called 'reflection time' although it was sort of hard to keep focused on anything much. The cantor had gotten back up and started to sing.

_“Come out moon, come out wishing star. Come out, come out, wherever you are...”_

It was the first song Holly recognized instantly. It'd taken her at least until the chorus back before the service started to recognize 'Hey Jude'. This song was from Winnie the Pooh. Somehow, Uncle Dean and Winnie the Pooh together just sounded... wrong. She rubbed her nose and heard a few sniffles from behind and next to her. 

From his place in the church, Liam sat calmly, trying very hard not to smile at the song he was listening to. He knew it quite well, despite not having heard it in years. Dad used to sing it to him. True, it made for a very melancholy lullaby; however he always understood the concept therein. Truthfully, he'd had a hard time not smiling during most of the service. In those seventeen years since he and Papa left, Dad changed a great deal. There was a great difference between having religion and having faith. The pastor had said as much when he was speaking. Dad had hated organized religion, claiming that there was no guarantee that the one you selected was the right one, not to mention all of them had some rules that made no sense. Pastor Barrie had spoken of someone Liam knew a lot of the people around here were wishing they had known better. Dad, who'd told the good pastor that having faith was better than hope, because if you had faith that things would get better, they would. Hope was an empty thing without faith to back it up. Papa was probably going to be surprised that Dad had become so profound. The illness that had claimed Dad's life was one of the many things mankind was trying to rid itself of. Liam wasn't certain if they'd ever do it. At least in adults. He believed Dad would rather have it be curable only in children than not at all. 

Dad. Dad wasn't sick any longer. He'd never be sick again, he'd never grow weary, he'd never have to know any of the things that made human life so utterly difficult and painful. It was something that seemed so unbelievable, the human mind couldn't fully comprehend it. That could be the feelings Liam was getting from various members of the assembly. People who'd rather he was still here, that there would have been more time, more _something._ That was life and Liam understood it better now than he had that day when he'd asked his papa why he had to work in Heaven but humans didn't. Human life was exactly as he'd always been told it was: hard, dangerous and woefully short, even if one lived for more than a century. After a final blessing the music started again and the tune again was oddly familiar as the cantor began to sing.

 _“They say there's a place where dreams have all gone. They never said where, but I think I know.”_ The cantor must have been used to singing at funerals, for her voice hadn't faltered once during the entire service. 

Liam glanced down at the program and had to smile at name of this tune, the last song on the list. _Going Home._ That's where Dad had gone. While Liam was no longer a little fledgling and had outgrown the need for parents, he still felt infused with joy on his dad's behalf. 

**

“You are right Dean; this is a very good performance.” Castiel smiled faintly. “I did not think you would appreciate any music besides that classic hard rock you love so much.” He wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulder. “What did you find so impressive about this concert?”

Dean gave him a sheepish look in response. “I owed someone a favor. Third row from the floor, sixth girl on the left.”

Castiel tilted his head, studying the person whom Dean had indicated. It was the girl he'd managed to reach the time that he'd felt Dean's panic through their bond. “Who is that?”

“A girl named Izzy Jacobson. If it hadn't been for her witty sarcasm, chemotherapy sessions would have been ten times worse.” Dean sighed. “Pathetic, I know...”

“No Dean, it's not pathetic at all.” He kissed the man's temple. “Just as I don't think your reason for going to church so many times to be pathetic either.”

“When Pastor Jim finds out how many times I've been to church in the last seventeen years, he's going to laugh so hard, he'll die again.” Dean snorted. “All these kids graduated high school last year... hard to believe, lookin' at 'em as eighth graders.”

“It is remarkable what a difference four years makes.” Castiel sighed slightly. 

“Cas, you don't have to answer this, but... what did you do for the past seventeen years?” Dean was genuinely curious. He couldn't think of what construed punishment in Heaven.

“I was filing.” Castiel's shoulders slumped at the memory. “Filing prayers.”

Dean frowned as the scene around them shifted; they were now sitting on the couch in the house in Sioux Falls. “Is that as boring as it sounds?”

“It was... tedious.” Castiel smiled as Dean pulled him close, resting his head against his. “I was given the task of organizing the prayers connected to the American Civil War.” 

“That sounds like a nightmare.” Dean closed his eyes, not wanting to let go of the angel.

“Not so much a nightmare as many of the prayers tended to become repetitive. Though I know it could have been far, far worse.” He smiled as he felt Dean hug him. “I would have liked to have finished, unfortunately I still have another year left to do.”

“Yuck,” Dean replied. “Wait, are you going to have to go back?”

“Not for the stint of time that I did before. I am currently... on vacation.”

“Vacation huh?” He nuzzled the angel's neck. “What do you want to do on your vacation?”

“Dean.” Castiel tried to ignore the warmth spreading through him. “Angels don't really take vacations, so I am...”

“You've taken vacations before.” Dean grinned. “If this place works the way you explained it to me, we can pretty much go anywhere in the States, except for Hawaii and Puerto Rico.”

“I was never one for tropical weather.” 

“Key West was always nice.” 

“You were in Key West in the spring and in the winter,” the angel smiled. “I am sure your opinion would change if you had been there in July or August.”

“Point taken.” Dean smiled. “So what would you like to do on your vacation, Cas?”

“Spend as much time as possible with you.” The angel let out a breath and looked around the room. “You changed the wallpaper in here.”

“I had to – the stuff was starting to peel off the walls.” Dean shrugged. “Technically, I scraped the paper off and then painted what was underneath.” He leaned over and kissed Castiel's neck. “Changed some other things around here too.”

The angel took hold of Dean's chin and smiled. “Such as?”

“A really nice bathtub, among other things.” Dean was still trying to cope with the slight awkwardness of all this. The way scenery changed in Heaven, the way one minute he'd be in some long ago memory with Sam or Dad – and then Cas would be there, a part of the scene and only he could see him. The fact that while his clothes changed, Castiel's remained constant: a tunic like shirt with sleeves and dark pants. He supposed it was some kind of angelic uniform.

Castiel snuggled Dean into his arms, content to just keep holding him for now. “Perhaps later. For now, let's just sit here.”

Dean rested his head against the angel's chest, closing his eyes contentedly. “No objections to that whatsoever.”

Castiel rubbed Dean's back, closing his eyes and smiling. “I'll take you to where I live later. Though I'm afraid we'll have to fly to get there.”

“Not flying, Cas,” Dean said, wincing at the thought.

The angel kissed the top of his head. “You don't have to be scared of flying any longer, Dean. I won't drop you. I'll never drop you.”

**

Holly found it wholly ironic that autumn decided to turn beautiful in the middle of October. Just cool enough to wear only light jackets and for those brave enough, a brief return to sandals. The house was full of family and friends. People had been dropping off food since Thursday afternoon: casseroles, desserts, breads – there was more food in the house now than at the Thanksgiving gatherings the Winchesters had in Atchison, every five years, when every family member went. Mom was probably holding up the best of the four of them, focusing more on helping run things than anything else. Mom had been the same way when her own gran had died back when Holly was nine. She supposed she came in second in the grief department, probably in good part thanks to the fact she'd been talking about it since school started. Maybe it was morbid, the way she'd been bracing herself for Uncle Dean's death, but they'd all known it was coming, no matter how they wanted to deny it. Daniel came next – he'd been clinging to the fragile hope of their uncle making an amazing recovery. Dad, of course, was taking it the worst. 

Holly was glad that while there was enough food for a hundred people, there were less than twenty in her house right now. Right now, however, she was content to sit on the front porch with Scully, who'd taken up residence there since they all got back from the cemetery. She gave the dog a sideways glance, Scully merely blinked at her, head still resting on her front paws. “You'll like Sean's house. They've got an enormous back yard for you to run around in and plenty of rabbits to chase and everything.” She rubbed the dog's ears absently. “What am I saying, you've not chased a rabbit or a squirrel since you were a puppy, if you ever did.” She sighed and put her head down on her knees. She didn't know if things would be worse or better when everyone went home. Mom told her she didn't have to go back to school until she felt like it, but Holly didn't know what else she was supposed to do. Everything had changed and there was nothing she could do to change things back. 

“I tell you...” She turned back to the dog and her eyes widened in surprise. Scully had sat up, looking alert, the way she used to when she was with Uncle Dean. “What?” 

The next moment the dog let out a bark that sounded _happy_ and then sprang to her feet, running down the steps and taking off for the far side of the yard, barking all the while. “Scully!” Holly stood up.

“Scully, come!” She took off after the animal and as she rounded a car in the drive, she saw the dog come to rest in front of a man who was standing at the edge of the drive.

Liam bent down to welcome the dog with a hug, rubbing her back and ears affectionately as she licked at his face. “Hello, hello...” He smiled as he stood, the dog backing off and sitting down, looking up at him expectantly. His gaze went from the dog to the girl standing a few yards away. “Hello to you as well.”

Holly blinked once or twice at the guy. He was easily as tall as her dad, with black hair and he was wearing a dark jacket and a very white shirt. “Uh, who are you?” She watched as the man came up the drive, Scully trotting along side of him, looking revitalized. 

Liam drew up close to his cousin, mindful of the fact that he probably shouldn't let onto the fact that he already knew a lot about her. “I'm Liam.”

Holly narrowed her eyes. “You're not funny. You don't sound like you're from New Zealand. Everyone knows that Liam lives in New Zealand.”

“You don't believe that.” Liam stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You know I don't live in New Zealand.”

“Okay – look, I'm not supposed to know that you don't live there. Dad would freak if he knew I knew the truth. Er... Uncle Dean sort of told me about why you didn't visit him when I was thirteen. He said I was old enough to know. However, my little brother doesn't know and I don't want him knowing and...”

“I can fake an accent if needs be,” Liam offered, adding a lilt to his voice. “Provided no one asks me how Gandalf is.”

Holly snorted a laugh, covering her mouth. “I – you've seen those movies?”

“I don't know what book on angels you've been reading, but I don't sit around and play a harp all day.” He rubbed the dog's ears again. “I don't even know _how_ to play a harp.”

“You don't?” She blinked and regarded him for a moment. “So do you play any musical instrument?”

“I play a very mean horn, according to my superiors, although nowhere near as good as my superior's superior.” Liam managed a small grin as he heard the door in the garage open.

“Hols? You out here?” Sam called.

“Yeah, Dad.” She turned towards her father. “Uh, we have a special visitor.” She turned to Liam and whispered, “You're not shy, are you?”

“Who is it, Holly?” Sam wasn't in the mood for games. What he really wanted to do was throw out all of these people and tell them to just leave him and his immediate family alone.

Holly knew her dad could see both of them from where he was standing. “It's Liam, Dad.”

*

Word that the long-lost son of Dean Winchester had shown up on Sam's door spread through the house alarmingly fast. Liam took it mainly in stride and was very glad that the identity of his 'mother' had long become a taboo subject. Telling these people he hatched from an egg in Heaven sounded insane, even to _him._ Great Aunt Lydia declared him too skinny, Great Uncle Greg said he was too clean and Gina Winchester looked at her nephew like he was a freak. Liam didn't let on to the fact he'd read as much from her mind when she looked him over. Sam was of the opinion that other than the eyes, there wasn't much of Dean in his boy's appearance. Liam found he didn't care for the way his human family looked him over, picking parts from his appearance to compare to relatives. He already had it on good authority – namely Gran Winchester – that he looked almost _exactly_ like her grandfather, save for the messy black hair, which grew like hers except in John Winchester's color. Then again, he seriously doubted any of the assembled family would appreciate the fact that he was picking up their thoughts like they were nothing. 

“Are you a vegetarian or something?” Daniel's voice broke into Liam's musings and he turned.

“Pardon me?” 

“Are you a vegetarian?” The boy indicated the plate that Liam was holding. 

Liam looked down at the plate that Aunt Lydia had forced into his hand and telling him to eat something – and what he'd put on it: strawberries, a small cluster of grapes, a few chunks of cheese, crackers and two of each of the vegetables offered on a platter put together by some well meaning coworker of Aunt Gina's. “No, I am not a vegetarian. I just happen to like certain foods more than others.”

Daniel frowned, studying his cousin. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask him where he'd been for the past seventeen years, but he bit his lip, refraining from that. “I think it sucks you couldn't come and visit sooner.”

“Agreed.” Liam frowned at one of the cubes of cheese he'd selected and ate it. “It completely sucks.” He gave his cousin a small smile. “I don't suppose you know if there are any Oreo Cookies, do you?”

Daniel's eyes lit up. “Oreos? You like those?”

“They are one of my favorite things to eat.”

*

Liam sat placidly at the kitchen table, half-heartedly reading a book. It was more of an appearance thing than anything. If Daniel came in and found him, he'd tell the boy he couldn't sleep. The other three family members, well, they might have some inkling of what he was doing. Although if Holly came down here, he was willing to put up the ruse. He rather lamented the departure of Scully, who'd put up a fuss at having to leave until he'd gotten the dog into the waiting truck and given her one last rub behind the ears. He turned the page as he heard a door open and then footsteps on the stairs, too heavy to be anyone but Sam's. He'd not gotten a chance to talk to him much yet and he knew the imminent conversation was a long time coming. 

Sam gave the angel, _Nephilim,_ he reminded himself, a glare as he came into the kitchen and opened a cabinet door and reached to the top shelf. “You don't sleep, do you?”

“No.” Liam decided it was best to keep the ball in his uncle's court. “I do not require sleep.” He winced slightly as the pungent scent of alcohol reached him. He looked up to see Sam come over the table, a tumbler glass full of whiskey in one hand, the bottle of Jack Daniels in the other. He looked up from his book. “I do not mean to intrude on – 

“Too late for that,” Sam said with a snort, taking a drink from his glass. “Late showing up too...” His eyes narrowed. “Needed to be here seven years ago, when your father got sick.”

Liam had been expecting this. He folded his hands over the book he been reading. “Seven years ago it was not possible for me to come and see him. I know you cannot hope to comprehend the laws that my father, Castiel, and I are bound to in Heaven. I would very much have liked to have been able to stay, or even visit; unfortunately rules dictated otherwise.”

“Fuck rules.” Sam took another swig of whiskey. “Rules n'ver mattered to Dean.”

“You are mistaking me with your brother, uncle. I am not my dad, just as you are not your father.”

“I don't act like my father.” Sam scooted closer to the table, resting his arm on it. “I'm nothing like him.”

“Oh but you are. Same drive, same singular goal. Just because the two goals were different does not mean that your actions are different.”

“Don't know nothing.” Sam hadn't really come down here to fight. However it wasn't fair, it wasn't right. 

“Do not _dare_ to presume my dad had fairness in his life.” Liam couldn't keep the venom out of his voice. “I may have not been here for seventeen years, yet I can clearly see which Winchester made out the best in the end. It was not my dad and it was not Adam. It was you. You are the one who wanted nothing to do with hunting, nothing to do with the rest of your family; all you ever wanted is normal. Now you have normal. I am not a fool, uncle.”

“I buried my _brother_ today, not that that means anything to you, stupid... weird...”

“Those seventeen years for Dean were two hundred years to me. You will have to do much better than that to try and garner my sympathy.” Liam watched the man knock back the remainder of the whiskey in his glass and then pour more of it. “And that amber liquid will not ease your pain.”

“Fuck you.” Sam downed half the glass.

“You always wanted honesty. I am giving you honesty, and it's pissing you off. Because despite all this...” he waved his hand to indicate the kitchen the house at large, “you're still not happy. You still think you deserve _more._ You're not pissed that your brother is dead, you're pissed that now, after all this time, you have _exactly_ what you've wanted since you were eleven.”

“And what is that?” Sam snarled, the booze starting to get the better of him.

“No overbearing father and no bossy older brother to tell you what to do. That's all you ever wanted, deep down. All your brothers ever wanted was family. To be with their family, to have a family... Adam never got the chance and Dean had his taken from him. And you want to sit there, drown your sorrows in liquor like someone who has nothing. Because deep down, you never wanted to be completely free of family – you just wanted attention. You wanted all of the attention.”

Sam was starting to regret drinking. He couldn't quite remember what an angel banishing sigil looked like or if it'd even work on Liam. “Go away.” Reality came back to him hard and fast when the back of a hand made contact with one side of his face, followed immediately by another blow in the opposite direction. He blinked in utter shock at the boy on the other side of the table who was now standing. In those green eyes, he didn't see Liam – he saw Dean. “You don't know shit about my – ”

“Quit whining.” Liam's voice was a harsh whisper. “Start being grateful for what you do have, rather than what you don't.” His eyes glinted in the semi-darkness of the kitchen. “As for not knowing shit about your dad, I know plenty about John Winchester; just as I know plenty about you. You're still that spoiled little child who almost always got his own way. Except for hunting. You were actually expected to do something besides sit around and read. And that pissed you off. Pissed you off that you had to stand up and not hide under the bed.” Liam knew he was hitting pretty low, but by now he was getting to the point where he didn't care. 

Sam was on the verge of issuing a retort when there was a fluttering sound and Liam was gone. “Damn it.” He was about to start back on his glass of whiskey when something occurred to him. The boy had just flown out of here without so much of a good-bye, just like Castiel – and had left with the last word, exactly like Dean would have. How the boy could act just like both of his parents at the exact same time despite their long separation seemed utterly impossible and at the same time, utterly perfect. The whole situation was so completely amusing that he pushed the glass and bottle away and started to chuckle to himself. He glanced over at the book Liam had been reading and began to laugh outright when he saw the title; _Taste of Home's Celebration of Pie. 101 Best Loved Recipes of All Time._


	8. Chapter 8

Dean didn't think you could sleep in Heaven, but apparently, one could. He knew he'd fallen asleep lying in Cas' arms on that overstuffed couch of Bobby's that he'd not seen in over a decade. Now he was starting to wake up and already he knew he wasn't on that couch any longer. He wasn't sure where he was, other than it was familiar and at the same time, completely foreign. He was warm, that was certain. It was the warmth of a hot bath after a long day, blankets fresh from the dryer, and being wrapped in a lover's arms all at the same time sort of warm. He slowly stretched out, and found no resistance to his movement. “Weird...” He didn't want to try and stand, because he was also aware of the fact that he was moving. He rolled over and looked up and saw nothing but brilliant light. It didn't burn him, yet it was so bright, so amazingly pure, he couldn't make out anything else. There was a soft humming sound that seemed to mix in with the warmth, adding to it and soothing him. “Cas?” He couldn't see him and in that moment he realized why he couldn't see the angel anywhere, because the angel was _everywhere._

Blinking once or twice and sitting up, Dean finally made a few things out a little clearer. He was sitting in a pair of cupped hands, hands the size of two-story house. He was overwhelmed and nearly fell back down into the palm he was sitting in, trembling. “Castiel?” He seriously doubted the angel could hear him or even knew he was moving.

“Of course I can hear you, Dean.” Castiel's voice was more of a whisper across his mind (did souls have minds?) than in his ears. “Don't be afraid.”

Dean swallowed hard, still not certain what to make of all this. “I...”

“We'll be there soon.” The angel sounded reassuring, although Dean couldn't fully comprehend all of this.

As he settled back down to rest in the groove he'd been sleeping in, Dean curled up, not wanting to think of how the outside observer might see this. “This is friggin' insane.”

“No one can see us.” There was an odd tremor to the angel's voice, almost as if he couldn't believe that fact. 

“You're used to it, I'm not.” Dean curled up into the fetal position, still not assured he was safe. It wasn't that he doubted Castiel's words; however, he'd never liked flying, and didn't think he ever could. He was _dead_ for crying out loud and still scared shitless over flying. 

Castiel urged himself forward, racing to reach his destination, not at all comfortable with the emotions pouring off of Dean. It was horrible to think that in a dimension where fear was supposed to be banished from the human psyche, the emotion was starting to overtake the soul in his hands. Through corridors and passageways, around immense buildings humans would never see from the outside, he raced onwards, heading back to the one place he didn't think he'd be back to visit so soon.

Dean was aware when Castiel stopped moving and gently set him down on something warm and supple. A fraction of a second later, the heat he'd known in the angel's hands suddenly seemed to completely fill him and he felt his breath (was he still breathing, exactly?) leave him. It was like being held, kissed, and loved all at the same time. It was everywhere and he slowly opened his eyes as the feeling abated to see the angel sitting over him, one hand on his cheek and the other clamped against his arm, where the hand-print burn scar still resided. Castiel wasn't wearing the tunic shirt that he'd been garbed in back in his Heaven. Those wings, those incredible wings Dean had only seen once were out and the angel was still breathing hard with the adrenaline of their flight. “Where are we?”

The angel brushed a stray strand of hair off of Dean's forehead, noticing a change he wasn't sure if the man himself knew about. Dean's hair was longer now; gone was the military style crew-cut. It wasn't as long as Castiel remembered Sam's being – it might be the fact that Dean's hair had a slight curl to it. “We're home.” He leaned down and kissed the man softly. “ _Our_ home.”

Dean blinked once or twice, not knowing quite how to react to that statement. The urge to look around was being outweighed by other things right now. He reached up and pulled Castiel back down towards him. “Less talk, more kissing.”

“No objections to that, Dean.” The angel smiled and let himself get drawn into the kiss he'd been waiting seventeen very, very long years for. 

**

Holly walked in to school the Monday after her uncle's funeral against her parent's wishes. She didn't know what she would do even if she did stay home. If she stayed home, it'd only make matters worse. It'd only remind her that her uncle was gone and that he was never coming back. She slammed her locker shut and headed for her first class, head down. People gave her funny looks in the hallways, as if surprised by her presence. She and her brother kept hoping their cousin would make another appearance, however, after almost thirty-six hours, she figured he'd gone back to Heaven or wherever it was he usually lived. Going through the motions of the school day were actually a lot easier than she'd thought they would be, so that by the time rehearsal rolled around, she figured that she'd become numb to the pain. 

Holly wasn't counting on the pain being bad until tomorrow. Tuesday was the day she had usually gone to visit Uncle Dean. She shoved a few books into her locker and headed for the theater, stopping short when she saw the director, Ms MacHale, talking to one of the last people she expected to see in her school. 

“Oh, there you are Holly. I was just talking with your cousin here.” 

Liam gave her a very guarded smile, trying not to show too much emotion in his face. 

“Uh...yeah.” She didn't want to say anything about the fact that her cousin was wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing two days ago, and they still looked spotlessly clean. “I didn't know he was going to be here so...”

“It's perfectly alright.” The woman's tone let her know she was ready to override any objection or excuse she might have made. “Pity he has to go back to Ecuador before the end of the week.” She beamed at him. “So he asked if it would be all right if he stayed to watch the rehearsal this afternoon, but only if it is alright with you.”

Holly bit her lip and shrugged. “I guess that'd be okay but seriously... I don't think...”

“I'm going to go let a few other members of the cast know, so they won't wonder why there's a giant sitting in the theater. Call is in twenty minutes.” She turned and strode away.

“ _Ecuador?_ ” Holly squeaked out. “You told her you live in _Ecuador?”_

Liam gave her a very mischievous grin and spoke in a flawless New Zealand accent. “I am a missionary to Ecuador, remember? I help people build houses and dig wells.” 

“In that case, be sure you tell Hannah Strug what kind of sunblock you use, because her skin's twice as fair as yours is.” She shook her head and walked away.

“Neutrogena SPF eighty-four,” Liam called after her and went into the theater, catching her retort of 'smart-ass' as the door swung shut behind him. 

**

Dean woke up slowly, resolving to try and stop thinking about how exactly things worked in Heaven, and found that Castiel was also dozing lightly. He rolled over onto his back to see the ceiling of the room they were in was high above him, at least twenty feet or more. The dark mahogany wood beams were a sharp contrast to the buttery-yellow color of the rest of the walls. There were windows up there too, all of them open, letting in a gentle breeze that even with the distance between him and them ruffled his hair _just_ enough to be noticed. He frowned, slowly counting the windows, a grand total of sixteen of them, and if there was wall space between each of them, the room he was currently in had to be enormous. He lifted himself to a sit, mindful of Castiel's wing, which was still draped over him. The bed, or whatever they were in, stood in the middle of the room, which was square and looked to be around fifty by fifty feet. There was one door in the entire room and it was normal sized, so Dean figured that they'd either flown in here via the window or it was more complicated than he'd thought. The floors were the same butter color as the walls, and upon inspection, Dean saw that he was looking at some kind of stone, either granite or marble. The bed-thing was on a wooden platform that was raised up from the floor several feet, hence making it seem a little sunken. The only other furniture he could see in the room was a small footstool a few feet away and a coat rack on which hung another tunic like the one Castiel had been wearing, except it didn't have sleeves. “What the...”

Castiel opened his eyes and looked up at Dean, smiling. “You're awake.”

“Yeah.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, his face contorting slightly when he took in what they were lying in. “Are we in a frickin' nest?”

The angel frowned. “Yes. Is something wrong with that?” 

“Angels sleep in nests?” 

“Did you think angels slept in beds when they were in their homes?” Castiel sat up and stretched slightly. “I'll admit I've not been here in a long time.”

Dean let out a breath. “So this is where you and Liam lived, huh?”

“Yes.” Castiel rested his head against Dean's shoulder, a slight slump to his stature. “We did.” 

In response, he gave the angel a one armed hug and kissed his forehead. “He came to see me before – before I got here.”

Tension seemed to melt off Castiel and he sat up a little straighter. “Did he?”

“Yeah.” Dean gave him a smile. “Said he'd come and see us as soon as he could. Whatever soon means to angels, that is.”

“He... he remembers _both_ of us, not just you?” Castiel said incredulously. 

“Yeah. Though I don't know if you'll recognize him when you first see him, 'cause I sure didn't. Then again, in my defense, I was pumped full of pain killers at the time.”

The angel let out a sound that was half laugh, half cry. “I don't believe it.” He pulled Dean into a tight hug. “That's supposed to be impossible.”

He let out a snort in response. “In case you've forgotten, Winchesters have a habit of not doing what they're supposed to do.”

The angel laughed softly and wrapped his wings around Dean as well. “That you do.” 

Dean rested his head on Cas' shoulder, snuggling close to him. “So this is your home, huh?”

“ _Our_ home, Dean.” The angel corrected him, rubbing the man's back in slow circles. “Though we can't stay here forever, we can stay here together for periods of time.”

“Don't know if I could look at these walls forever, Cas.” He kissed the angel's neck. “And some time is better than no time.”

“An optimistic answer. Something I didn't think you ever gave.” The angel pulled away just enough to lift Dean's chin and look into his eyes. “What else have you been up to since I saw you last?”

“Rebuilt some cars, broadened my music tastes and turned down a lot of dates.” Dean's smile was almost sheepish.

“Broadened your music tastes how, exactly?” Castiel gave him wry expression. “Was there, I believe the term is... revival... of the classic hard rock genre?”

“Na, classic rock is called classic for a reason. Though I did go to the final concert of The Who. Led Zeppelin had theirs in London and much as I love Zep, I wasn't getting on a plane. Particularly one flying over the ocean.” Dean closed his eyes again. “Told you I started listening to that choir music Liam liked so much.”

Castiel smiled and kissed his forehead. “We all found our ways to get through the past seventeen years. I think I've listened to more books than I ever thought of reading, although I have yet to select a favorite from among them.”

“Sorry I freaked out over the flying thing a little while ago.” 

“No, Dean. The fault was mine. I should have prepared you better.” 

“I don't think it was the flying so much as the...” Dean struggled to find the right words. “Don't take this the wrong way, but waking up in a giant pair of hands would freak just about anyone out, living or dead.”

The angel nodded. “Understandable.” He held Dean closer to him. “Would you object to trying it again sometime?”

He thought for a moment. It was true, he'd been a little more overwhelmed with his surroundings and waking up already in mid-flight than the actual flying. “No, no I wouldn't.” He gave Castiel a smile. “Just, not any time real soon, okay?”

“Okay.” Castiel pulled them back down to the floor of the nest. “I prefer this right now anyway.”

Dean laughed. “No objections here, Castiel. No objections to _this_ ever.” 

**

Sam went back to work on the eighth of November, after almost an entire month off. He'd not trusted himself to not fall apart again until the second had passed. Over the following weeks he slowly slid back into the routine he'd had before Dean moved to Blue Springs. Life wouldn't ever be normal again, he knew that. As much as he hated to admit it, Liam had been right. Sam had always labored under the impression that he didn't need family, however, deep down, he'd always needed them – and now, he was without the one thing he'd always come to depend on in life: his big brother. He would have to find a way to adjust to life without Dean – even if at times it seemed utterly impossible. Thanksgiving was approaching rapidly, and he knew it'd be a hard one. The first holidays were always the hardest, he'd been told. It was going to be one of the Thanksgivings where just part of the family showed up in Atchison, so at least there would be some comfort in the fact that he wouldn't have to answer the same questions over and over. 

“Sam?” Gina's voice brought him back to reality. “Could you pass the pepper please?”

“Sure.” He took the shaker and handed it to her. “How many of these have we gone to now?” 

Gina laughed softly. “This makes nineteen for you.” She grinned as she turned her attention to her plate. “I never thought I'd be working for this company for twenty-five years.” 

“I didn't think we'd be having the same chicken and potato dish at every employee banquet we've attended in this place.”

The coworker of Gina's sitting at the table next to Sam burst out laughing. “I thought it looked familiar!”

Gina shook her head in response and passed the salt to the person sitting next to her. “Honestly, Sam...”

“No, I'm serious. I've eaten at a Denny's in all of the lower forty-eight and even _they_ don't crank out food as cloned as this dish is.” Sam stabbed a chunk of his meat. “Though I will say, in its defense, it hasn't been served cold in at least eleven years.”

Gina set her fork down, starting to chuckle. “Everything was cold eleven years ago! That blizzard came out of nowhere!” She took a drink of water to try and control her mirth.

“Augh, that was awful,” the man sitting on the other side of the table added. “I'd say it was a good thing we didn't have it over in the banquet room at the Platte City Best Western that year. I still can't believe they didn't cancel it.”

“This was almost as bad. I mean, sure, home's just a few miles away, but in that weather? Forget it.” Sam shook his head. “We all had to stay here for the night. Our neighbor was watching Holly, and she called right after the power went out in our neighborhood to tell us that she was going to take her over to her house for the night. If we hadn't talked to her, they never would have gotten Hols to fall asleep.”

“They did cancel the dinner...” Gina set her glass down. “The directors had a short meeting and said we'd get together for a nice breakfast in the morning. So we had an awards banquet with doughnuts and fruit cups.” 

Sam listened as the employees went on talking about that harrowing winter banquet, only half listening as he ate his dinner. In a few days, it would be the one month anniversary of Dean's death. 

He just had to keep moving forward, one step at a time. 

*

Daniel often wished his grandparents would make a bigger deal about Thanksgiving, so they didn't always have to go to Atchison. However he knew that deep down, he shouldn't complain. The food was always great, there was always plenty of it, and best of all, plenty of relatives who didn't ask him stupid questions like what grade he was in school now – because the Winchester side actually bothered to remember – and all those other irritating questions that seemed to crop up at family gatherings on his mom's side of the family. He leaned his chin on his hand, watching the scenery fly past. “You think it's going to snow?”

Sam shook his head. “They're calling for flurries – I don't think there will be any accumulation if it does snow.”

In the seat next to Daniel, Holly frowned at her reader, running her finger back and forth to turn the page. “The mother in this book is so annoying...” 

“What are you reading, honey?” Gina looked over her shoulder at her daughter. 

_“Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets._ I mean, I don't get how these books got to be so popular thirty years ago.”

Sam snorted. “Thirty years ago the fiction for kids your age was horrible. There was nothing original or entertaining, _Harry Potter_ was something new.” He glanced at the girl in the rear-view mirror. “You're reading that for school?”

“Yeah.” She sighed and leaned back in her seat. “I just... it's weird.”

“Weird is one way of putting it.” Gina smiled. “Is there something you don't understand?”

“Yeah. Why is a book geared toward ten year olds on the list of books I'm supposed to read before I graduate?”

“Hey!” Daniel interjected.

“Wait until you get to the Russian authors. Then you'll be wishing for the good books with Harry and all of his friends.” Sam chuckled. “Still can't believe it's taken you this long to read that series.”

“Not a fan of science fiction and fantasy, Dad. I mean, I have to be the only person in this family who hasn't read the entire _Narnia_ series.” Holly snorted and went back to her book.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “You have no idea what you're missing with that.”

“Yeah yeah, ” Holly replied, keeping her eyes on her reader.

*

Daniel thought the best and the worst thing about Thanksgiving this year was that no one mentioned Uncle Dean. It was as if his death had swept him under the rug and out of all conversation, the same with his grandparents, various cousins who'd not been seen in years – it was just like he didn't exist. Daniel was glad that no one mentioned him in that the pain was still very fresh, yet he was angry that no one even wanted to ask how his dad was doing. How he was doing. It was pretty obvious to him and Holly that all the other kids their age were avoiding the subject with them. He'd sort of been hoping that Liam would make an appearance for dinner; however considering it'd taken seventeen years for the guy to show up the last time, it was a lost cause. 

When they came home, Daniel waited until his parents were both in their room before going down the hall to his sister's room. “Hols?” He knocked once. “Can I come in?”

Holly opened the door to admit her brother, looking perplexed. “Something wrong?”

Daniel took the book he'd been carrying out from under his arm and held it out to her. “Have you seen this?”

The girl took the offered book, took one glance at it and went white. “This is Granddad's journal. You're not supposed to read that!”

“Too late.” He sat down in his sister's desk chair. “Hols, is that... stuff in the book, are they true?”

“You mean – about monsters?” Holly sat down on her bed, sighing. 

“Yeah. Dad says monsters aren't real. According to that, they are. Who's telling the truth?”

Holly set the journal down and took a deep breath. “I can't tell you that, Danny.”

“Why not?” 

“Because I promised Uncle Dean I wouldn't. Not until you're old enough. Heck, Dad doesn't even know that I know about this.”

“I'm ten, Hols. That's older than Dad was, according to...”

“According to what?” A voice came from the doorway and both kids jumped. Sam stood there, taking the scene in. It was almost like looking into the past. Two kids, and an unopened journal he'd not seen in years lying next to his eldest. “Holly Deanna Winchester, where did you get that?”

“Uncle Dean gave it to me.” This was the truth. He'd given it to her after making her promise not to tell Daniel about any of what was in it until he was at least thirteen. 

“Dad, it's my fault,” Daniel interjected before their father could reprimand his sister. “I took it out from where Hols had it hidden.”

Sam sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. “You aren't supposed to know about – ”

“Monsters?” Holly offered.

“I didn't want you two knowing about them.” He came over and shooed Daniel out of the desk chair and sat down in his place as the boy scrambled to sit next to his sister. “How much of that book have you read. And tell the truth.”

“Almost all of it,” Holly said. “Some of it's kind of hard, cause Granddad had horrible handwriting.”

“First few years...” Daniel answered. “I got to the part about... uh... that teacher in New Mexico and got scared. That's why I came to talk to Holly.”

Sam had never, ever wanted to have this conversation with his children. He wanted this part of the Winchester's life sealed and forgotten. “Before I start to explain all of this, Holly, did your uncle tell you about Liam? About where he really was the past seventeen years?”

“Liam's been in New Zealand,” Daniel said, looking stunned. “Where else would he have been?”

“Yeah. Uncle Dean told me about Liam and about Castiel.”

“Who's Castiel?” 

“Castiel is a long story.” Sam set his father's journal on Holly's desk. “And we will get to him eventually. Because he's a very big part of this story.” He took a deep breath and began at the most logical place he could think of. “Around thirty years ago, I was living in Palo Alto, in California, going to Stanford University. I hadn't seen your uncle Dean in four years, when one night he broke into my apartment to talk to me...”

**

Castiel wasn't quite sure how he felt about the current 'addition' to the home. Until recently he'd thought that pets getting into Heaven was a myth – or that the ones who appeared in the Heavens of humanity were mere projections of the ones that had existed on Earth. However, this dog – who never made any attempt to move from her spot just outside the nest – was either the most obstinate animal that ever existed or just didn't like him very much. “I still do not understand why you named this dog Scully.”

Dean was dozing in the nest behind him. “I didn't name her Scully. The person who had her first named her that. Figured they were either _X-Files_ fans or just thought the name was good.”

“I do not understand why she prefers the floor to being up here with you. She is your dog, Dean.” The angel watched as the dog came closer to the side of the nest and lay down just under where he was leaning against the side. “I thought if you had such a dog, she would sleep where you did.”

“Sculls always slept by my bed, never on it. It was a training thing.” Dean slowly sat up, mindful of the fourth occupant of the room. “And furthermore, she's not stubborn Cas, she's a Winchester.”

The angel gave him a look. “That explains much.” He reached down and rubbed the dog behind the ears, which seemed to be exactly what the dog wanted in the first place. “It is not that I object to her presence, Dean, it is just that I do not know what to make of her.”

“She's a dog, Cas. She's not that complicated. She spent seven years working, and the first two years of her life training for that work. She's kind of like you in that regard.”

He gave the man an offended look. “What does that mean?”

“It means that now that she no longer has to work, she has no idea what she's supposed to do. All she's ever known is work, more or less. All you knew for the longest time was work and when you tripped into unfamiliar territory, you weren't sure how to handle it.” He sighed. “I don't mean it in a bad way, Cas.”

“I understand what you're trying to say, Dean.” He smiled in response. “I am glad she was around to take care of you.”

“Scully's a good dog. Give her a few weeks and she'll probably start wanting to play as much as a puppy.”

Scully had sat up and was nudging at Castiel's now still hand and the angel complied by rubbing her behind the ears again. “She's also very demanding.”

“Na, she's not demanding. She is just long overdue for some serious attention and affection. I don't think she got much of that during the few months of retirement she had.” He rubbed his face. “You need to rest.”

“As do you.” Castiel turned. “I do not think a dog as loyal as this one should have to sleep on the floor.” He rubbed Scully's ears again. 

“You get settled first and then I'll get Scully up here. She's still getting to know you.” Dean was stating a fact. The dog had only been with them for a few days and had been oddly cautious around the angel. Scully rarely trusted strangers right off.

The angel returned to a niche in the soft floor of the nest and stretched his wings once before laying down, curling himself around the egg that had made an appearance several days ago, draping one arm over it. 

Dean smiled at the sight and called his dog. He watched as the animal scrambled over the lip of the nest with ease and came to lie down on his other side. “Good girl.” He rubbed her once before lying back down, draping his arm against the egg so he could hold Castiel's hand. Almost instantly, he felt a familiar tiny little push against his mind, something that still made him feel a little uncomfortable. “Cas? Why does she keep doing that?”

Castiel smiled and squeezed Dean's hand as he felt the familiar nudge against him. “She's using her grace to keep track of her surroundings.”

“Reassurance sort of thing?” Dean replied sleepily.

“Exactly.” The angel rubbed the back of Dean's hand with his thumb, humming softly. 

Dean felt the dog settle down against his back and then thump her tail twice. “I think our girl just figured out how to give an ear rub via the mind.”

“I would not be surprised.” Castiel smiled and rested his head against the egg, making a soft cooing noise. “I remember telling you the other day that since I named Liam, it is only fair that you get to name this child.”

“I know, Cas.” Dean yawned. “I know it's only been a few days, but I was thinking of Brielle.”

The angel frowned slightly. “Brielle?”

“It's a nice name.” Dean rested his head against the egg, mirroring Cas' position. “What's wrong with it?”

“There's nothing wrong with it. I was merely perplexed because of what the name means.” 

“Well, if it bothers you, we'll call her Ellie for short.” Dean felt another nudge against his mind. “See, she likes it.”

Castiel squeezed Dean's hand again. “I guess she does,” he said as he felt the same touch against his grace. “I have a feeling she's going to be quite the handful.”

“Wouldn't have her any other way, Cas,” Dean replied. 

**

After watching the books gather dust, Sam came to the conclusion that he couldn't keep them in his house any longer. It took Sam exactly ten months, three weeks and five days to go through the entire contents of Bobby's book collection to check for stray papers, notes and other miscellaneous items. He had enlisted the help of Holly and Danny, who'd been more than happy to help him. Over those many months and weeks, he'd told them a lot more than he planned to, much more than he ever really wanted to. At first, he'd felt betrayed that his older brother had told his daughter the truth. After some reflection, Sam realized that it was better for the kids to know and not stumble into it, the way his own father had. He started from the beginning and told them about how he and Dean grew up, about monsters, about Jo and Ellen, about their Uncle Bobby and of course, he told them what he could about their Uncle Castiel. They'd had questions about some of the parts, thankfully none of them related to Ruby. Although he'd not gone into great detail with her – they seemed to accept the 'she was very manipulative and I was out of my mind with grief' as being believable. He prayed that they never asked for more details in regards to her. 

The spare contents of the books turned out to be a large quantity of notes, the earliest dated 1978 and the most recent 2025. There were also seventeen letters, eight playing cards and two hundred and fifty dollars, made up mostly of one dollar bills. 

He wrote letters to various members of the library board and the directors, and now the Robert Singer Special Collection was getting the dust-free, temperature-controlled home it had always deserved at the Lewis and Clark Library in Kansas City. When Gina had first told him about the new destination library that was being built, Sam had been surprised. Her employer already had three other destination libraries, one of which Gina worked at. However this one was to be a little different than the others. It would focus solely on special collections from around the country and the world. It'd be similar to the genealogical branch, which Sam translated to 'no kids under fifteen allowed' – a rule that he sometimes thought unfair, and other times practical. The library would be solely for research and research alone.

Perhaps the most shocking thing to Sam was the fact that it was being built in an area that thirty years ago, had been completely decimated by crime. Those days were long past, just from looking around the parking lot. He'd taken off work early to join the other people who'd donated collections to the library for a special tour before its official grand opening. He hurried up the steps and paused to look back out over the lot when he reached the top, his eyes focused on the backs of the statue of the library's namesakes, Clark's hand pointed northward. Down below the lot, in a hollow where there used to be stores and motels, the land had been given back to nature and was now full of prairie grass and wildflowers. Sam thought it was a very nice touch. He smiled at the mural of the history of Kansas City painted on this side of the noise wall that separated the grassland from the off-ramp of the highway. 

Still smiling to himself, Sam turned and headed to the front doors. Today was his fiftieth birthday. Twenty-five years ago, he'd just wanted to live to see twenty-six. He knew that when he got home tonight, he could expect some kind of special dinner or something. Gina was big into birthdays. 

*

That night, Sam couldn't sleep. After lying awake for several hours, hearing Gina's even breathing in bed next to him all the while, he got up, careful not to wake her and headed down to the family room. He took one of the heavy photo albums from the shelf and sat down in the overstuffed chair next to the fireplace. He knew full well why sleep was eluding him and getting this book out was nothing more than feeding the pain that was slowly building in his chest, but he had to do it. A good cry and then he knew he'd be able to sleep. One good long cry. He opened the book and stared down at the first page. Mom and Dad standing in front of the Impala. Dad was in a very ugly suit that was synonymous with the seventies and Mom was wearing a floral dress with an empire waist, holding a bouquet of white lavender and holly. Flowers for protection and defense. 

Sam sighed and went through the pictures that came to him via his uncles. Mom and Dad in front of their first house, then came the baby pictures of his older brother. All smiles and freckles, someone who Sam didn't know. The Dean he'd known had been, for the most part, cautious and serious and didn't have the big grin he had in many of the pictures. He was staring down at what had to be Dean's third Christmas, judging from the pregnant state of Mom, and wondering, of all things, if that shiny black tricycle his brother was sitting on had been destroyed in the fire when he heard a rustling sound. He slowly raised his head and at the same time, heard a voice he'd not heard in over twenty years.

“Hello, Sam.” 

Sam put the album down and rose from his chair. “Cas?” 

The angel didn't wait for any more of a greeting, he merely walked over and hugged the man tightly. “Your brother told me to wish you a happy birthday.” He felt Sam shudder and then knew he was crying. “It is all right, Sam.”

“I... it....” Sam didn't know if he should be angry, upset or somehow overjoyed at this visit. He was on the verge of a full breakdown as he felt the angel hug him tighter. “I miss him, Cas. I miss him a lot.”

“He misses you too, Sam.” Castiel had already decided he wasn't going to shed a lot of information about what Dean was doing in Heaven. Humans, Dean had told him, never completely lost their need for comfort or affection. He didn't want to seem greedy or selfish about the incident, although knowing that Dean was at peace and wouldn't suffer again should be enough for Sam to accept and go on living. Then again, Sam was far too much like his father to just take a deep breath and do that.

“I didn't really get to say good-bye.” Sam sniffled and relaxed his grip a little. “Stupid, I know...”

“It is not stupid.” Castiel let out a breath. “Dean knows you would have been there, had you known.”

Sam made a sound between a snort and a sob. “Are you going to be angry if I said I would rather still have him here?”

The angel drew away and looked him in the eye. “If Dean were still alive, he would still be riddled with the disease that claimed his life. Asking for him to still be here is akin to asking him to continue to suffer because you do not want to be without your brother.”

“That's not entirely what I mean, Cas... I... I wanted him to get better.” Sam suddenly felt ashamed. “I just...”

“There are few siblings as close as you and Dean were, as you continue to be, even though he is no longer here. It is only natural that you wish you could still spend time with him, that you could still know that he was always there. The time has come for you to stand without your brother, to keep moving forward because you know that is what he wants you to do. You cannot continue to live while clinging to your brother's shadow.”

Sam saw back down in his chair, rubbing his face. “It's not easy, Cas.”

“No one said it was going to be. The only easy thing in this world is falling down the first time you try to walk.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It is a well documented fact that every single member of the mammal class, from bats to humans will fall on their first attempt at walking. Even quadrupeds have this issue.”

“Oh shit, you're sounding like Dr. Spock again.” Sam groaned.

“Which Dr. Spock are you referring to, Samuel? The pediatrician Benjamin Spock or the _Star Trek_ character portrayed by Leonard Nimoy?”

“I don't....” Sam stopped short. “Since when the hell do you know about _Star Trek?_ ”

“Doesn't everyone of a certain age know of it?” Castiel held out his hands in a slight shrug. “I am merely stating a fact. I fail to see what I have in common with a Vulcan. Vulcans function on pure logic. If I were to function on that alone, then your brother and I would...”

“Stop.” Sam interrupted him. “Just don't go any further into that. Please.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I'm trying, Cas. I really am. Some days... some days are harder than others. This one started out so easy and then, it just hit me. How I managed to get through all of dinner and dessert, I don't know.”

“It will always be this way, although it will get better with time.” Castiel sat down on the couch, looking down at his hands. “I spent many hours of the past seventeen years feeling much the way you do now. That there would be no end. That things would not get better. However, time progressed and the bad hours were soon fewer and longer periods of time passed between them.”

“They say the first year is the hardest,” Sam said, more to the floor than to the angel.

“A fair assessment.” 

Sam studied his own hands for a moment, focusing mainly on the gold band on his left hand. “Dean tell you he started going to church after – well, you know?”

“He went to listen to the music. I am in agreement that music tends to be the one thing most religions have gotten right.” Castiel smiled slightly. “Your brother found faith through dealing with loss. Perhaps you should try and do the same.”

“Maybe.” He looked up. “Though, no offense Cas, I don't think I'll be walking into a church any time soon.”

“All humans who find faith find it in their own ways.” 

“There you go, being all philosophical again. I bet you and Pastor Jim get along great.”

“James Murphy and I have not had many opportunities in which to talk. However, you are correct, we do get along quite well.”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't suppose you're going to make a habit of showing up here, are you?”

“No Sam.” The angel stood. “I will not. I have told you that you must go forward in life without your brother. You must go on without my help as well. I will watch over you from time to time, though beyond that, it is highly unlikely that I will contact you like this again.”

“Could – could you do something for me, Cas?” 

“What is it?” The angel tilted his head to the side, studying Sam intently.

“Just give Dean a hug from me. And from the kids. They miss their uncle too.” 

Castiel smiled. “Of course I can do that for you.” He took a step forward and gently tapped the man's forehead, sending him instantly into slumber. “Good-bye, Sam.” With a fluttering of wings, the angel was gone. 

**

Liam hadn't been down this particular corridor in what seemed like forever. He remembered every stone in the floor, every door, each a little different from those that bordered it. Although he'd not been in any of the other rooms in this part of Heaven, he knew they were almost all the same. It didn't matter where the room was, they all had windows on all four sides and were done in warm tones. He'd slid down this corridor with other fledglings in stocking feet, laughing when they fell into a pile at the end, a mass of feathers and a tangle of arms, wings and legs. He knew it'd be a long time before he came to this place. Well, if two years could be considered long. The friends he made here were all off to various parts of Heaven, and some he'd seen and others he had no idea where they'd gone. When he at last came to the heavy, carved wooden door that was his destination, he stopped and slid his hand over the smooth wood. He remembered the patterns in the grain of wood. The weird curved shape that made him think of a thin person sitting on a very fat cushion, the curved one near the top that looked like the moon – and then there was that ornate bronze knob that was carved with flowers. He nudged the door open and found the room within to be in shadow, indicating that its occupants were sleeping. He looked up the corridor once more before slipping into the room and shutting the door.

Almost immediately, something brushed against his grace, seeking him out to determine if he was a threat. Liam let out a breath and reached out with his own, not as brash or as strong, but timidly, ready to bolt if needs be. He took a step closer to the nest, frowning when he got all the way up to the small dais it was on before the grace pushed at him again, letting him know that it was an involuntary action. The grace's owner was deep in slumber. He took two more steps and could see into the shallow area clearly. There were four occupants; his Papa was sleeping on one side, his wing spread out over two others protectively. His Dad slept on the other side, snoring softly. Between them, all Liam could make out was a mass of blond and a hint of white. “What...” At the sound of his voice, the fourth occupant, the German Sheppard he recognized as Scully, sat up, looked at him for a moment and then laid back down. 

A few seconds later the middle figure wriggled out of their warm pocket and crawled towards him. Liam crouched down to rest against the lip of the nest as a fledgling, looking to be about the same age as a nine month old infant, came within arm's reach and sat down, leaning on her hands, blinking at him. In the semi-darkness of the room, he could make out the girl's very brown eyes, her blond hair a riot of curls. She then let out a huge yawn that made Liam grin. “You should be sleeping.” The child's response was to hold up her arms and wings, grinning, a silent request to be picked up. Without the support of her arms, she overbalanced and fell flat on her back. 

Liam didn't think twice. He immediately picked her up before she could start crying, putting her wings to rights and settling her head against his collarbone. He could remember how Dad used to hold him like that. The girl relaxed against him, spreading out her wings in a semi-hug, while she tucked her arms against her body. The older angel settled against the inside of the nest, feeling the fledgling pushing against his grace with hers, testing to see if it was okay to get comfortable. She let out another yawn and a moment later, settled into sleep against him. He kissed his little sister on the top of her head and pulled his reader out of his pocket, using his other arm to support the girl as he turned it on and found his place in the book he'd been reading. 

Castiel woke up not because he sensed that Ellie was no longer resting between him and Dean, but because he sensed someone else was in the nest with them. He rose up onto one arm and looked towards the door-side of the nest and couldn't believe his eyes. “Liam?” His voice was just above a whisper.

Liam looked up from his book. “Good morning, Papa.” 

The older angel had to take in the sight for a moment. His son was wearing clothes that he'd only seen on 'specialist' angels, ones like Joshua and Virgil: heather-gray pants and a solid colored shirt that denoted his legion. Not even Zachariah, as leader of his garrison had worn such garments. Although he sensed that what Liam was involved in was something much more benign than any of the other specialist groups that had come and gone in the ranks of the Host. “It is still too early to be up.” 

“It is perfectly all right with me if you want to go back to sleep. I do not think the little one is going to want to move any time soon.” He gave his father a sheepish grin. 

“Brielle has the habit of waking up and changing locations during the night.” He smiled tiredly. “Rather like someone who used to sleep here did.” 

Liam felt his cheeks turn slightly pink and went back to his reading as he heard his papa settle back down into the nest. “I'll try not to wake you again.”

“Do not worry.” Castiel covered a yawn. “Are you on vacation?”

“For several weeks, yes. Someone whom I am to be working with has yet to complete his hours working in the souls department.” Liam smiled. “So I thought I'd come home for a visit.”


End file.
